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BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


SUSANNA  AND  SUE 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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SUSANNA  AND  SUE 

By  KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

ALICE  BARBER  STEPHENS 

AND    N.    C.    WYETH 


If 


HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN    COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
THE    RIVERSIDE     PRESS 
CAMBRIDGE  :  MDCCCCIX 


COPYRIGHT,    1909,    BY    KATE   DOUGLAS    RIGGS 


ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


Published  October  iqoq 


CONTENTS 

I. 

Mother  Ann's  Children 

1 

IT. 

A  Son  of  Adam 

23 

III. 

Divers  Doctrines 

43 

IV. 

Louisa's  Mind 

67 

V. 

The  Little  Quail  Bird 

87 

VI. 

Susanna  speaks  in  Meeting 

107 

VII. 

"The  Lower  Plane" 

121 

VIII. 

Concerning  Backsliders 

141 

IX. 

Love  Manifold 

163 

X. 

Brother  and  Sister 

177 

XI. 

"The  Open  Door" 

195 

XII. 

The  Hills  of  Home 

211 

ILLUSTRATIONS 


Looking   up   into   her  mother's  face   expectantly 

(page  102)  Frontispiece 

Do  you  remember  the  little  Nelson  girl  and  her 
mother  ?  12 

Susanna  sat  in  her  corner  beside  the  aged  Tabitha  112 

Hetty  looking  at  the  lad  with  all  her  heart  in  her 


eyes 


130 


I 

MOTHER  ANN'S   CHILDREN 


IT  was  the  end  of  May,  when  "spring  goeth 
all  in  white."  The  apple  trees  were  scatter- 
ing their  delicate  petals  on  the  ground,  drop- 
ping them  over  the  stone  walls  to  the  roadsides, 
where  in  the  moist  places  of  the  shadows  they 
fell  on  beds  of  snowy  innocence.  Here  and 
there  a  single  tree  was  tinged  with  pink,  but 
so  faintly,  it  was  as  if  the  white  were  blush- 
ing. Now  and  then  a  tiny  white  butterfly 
danced  in  the  sun  and  pearly  clouds  strayed 
across  the  sky  in  fleecy  flocks. 

Everywhere  the  grass  was  of  ethereal  green- 
ness, a  greenness  drenched  with  the  pale  yel- 
low of  spring  sunshine.   Looking  from  earth  to 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

sky  and  from  blossom  to  blossom,  the  little 
world  of  the  apple  orchards,  shedding  its  falling 
petals  like  fair-weather  snow,  seemed  made 
of  alabaster  and  porcelain,  ivory  and  mother- 
of-pearl,  all  shimmering  on  a  background  of 
tender  green. 

After  you  pass  Albion  village,  with  its 
streets  shaded  by  elms  and  maples  and  its 
outskirts  embowered  in  blossoming  orchards, 
you  wind  along  a  hilly  country  road  that  runs 
between  grassy  fields.  Here  the  white  weed  is 
already  budding,  and  there  are  pleasant  pas- 
tures dotted  with  rocks  and  fringed  with  spruce 
and  fir;  stretches  of  woodland,  too,  where  the 
road  is  lined  with  giant  pines  and  you  lift  your 
face  gratefully  to  catch  the  cool  balsam  breath 
of  the  forest.  Coming  from  out  this  splendid 
shade,  this  silence  too  deep  to  be  disturbed  by 
light  breezes  or  vagrant  winds,  you  find  your- 
self on  the  brow  of  a  descending  hill.  The  first 
thing  that  strikes  the  eye  is  a  lake  that  might 
be  a  great  blue  sapphire  dropped  into  the  ver- 


MOTHER  ANN'S   CHILDREN 

dant  hollow  where  it  lies.  When  the  eye  reluc- 
tantly leaves  the  lake  on  the  left,  it  turns  to  rest 
upon  the  little  Shaker  Settlement  on  the  right 
—  a  dozen  or  so  large  comfortable  white  barns, 
sheds,  and  houses,  standing  in  the  wide  orderly 
spaces  of  their  own  spreading  acres  of  farm 
and  timber  land.  There  again  the  spring  goeth 
all  in  white,  for  there  is  no  spot  to  fleck  the 
dazzling  quality  of  Shaker  paint,  and  their 
apple,  plum,  and  pear  trees  are  so  well  cared 
for  that  the  snowy  blossoms  are  fairly  hiding 
the  branches. 

The  place  is  very  still,  although  there  are 
signs  of  labor  in  all  directions.  From  a  window 
of  the  girls'  building  a  quaint  little  gray-clad 
figure  is  beating  a  braided  rug ;  a  boy  in  home- 
spun, with  his  hair  slightly  long  in  the  back 
and  cut  in  a  straight  line  across  the  forehead, 
is  carrying  milk-cans  from  the  dairy  to  one  of 
the  Sisters'  Houses.  Men  in  broad-brimmed 
hats,  with  clean-shaven,  ascetic  faces,  are 
ploughing  or  harrowing  here  and  there  in  the 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

fields,  while  a  group  of  Sisters  is  busy  setting 
out  plants  and  vines  in  some  beds  near  a  clus- 
ter of  noble  trees.  That  cluster  of  .trees,  did  the 
eye  of  the  stranger  realize  it,  was  the  very 
starting-point  of  this  Shaker  Community,  for 
in  the  year  1785,  the  valiant  Father  James 
Whittaker,  one  of  Mother  Ann  Lee's  earliest 
English  converts,  stopped  near  the  village  of 
Albion  on  his  first  visit  to  Maine.  As  he  and 
his  Elders  alighted  from  their  horses,  they 
stuck  into  the  ground  the  willow  withes  they 
had  used  as  whips,  and  now,  a  hundred  years 
later,  the  trees  that  had  grown  from  these 
slender  branches  were  nearly  three  feet  in 
diameter. 

From  whatever  angle  you  look  upon  the 
Settlement,  the  first  and  strongest  impression  is 
of  quiet  order,  harmony,  and  a  kind  of  austere 
plenty.  Nowhere  is  the  purity  of  the  spring  so 
apparent.  Nothing  is  out  of  place ;  nowhere  is 
any  confusion,  or  appearance  of  loose  ends,  or 
neglected  tasks,   As  you  come  nearer,  you  feel 


MOTHER  ANN'S  CHILDREN 

the  more  surely  that  here  there  has  never  been 
undue  haste  nor  waste ;  no  shirking,  no  putting 
off  till  the  morrow  what  should  have  been  done 
to-day.  Whenever  a  shingle  or  a  clapboard 
was  needed  it  was  put  on,  where  paint  was 
required  it  was  used,  —  that  is  evident ;  and  a 
look  at  the  great  barns  stored  with  hay  shows 
how  the  fields  have  been  conscientiously  edu- 
cated into  giving  a  full  crop. 

To  such  a  spot  as  this  might  any  tired  or  sin- 
ful heart  come  for  rest ;  hoping  somehow,  in  the 
midst  of  such  frugality  and  thrift,  such  self- 
denying  labor,  such  temperate  use  of  God's 
good  gifts,  such  shining  cleanliness  of  outward 
things,  to  regain  and  wear  "the  white  flower  of 
a  blameless  life."  The  very  air  of  the  place 
breathed  peace,  so  thought  Susanna  Hatha- 
way; and  little  Sue,  who  skipped  by  her  side, 
thought  nothing  at  all  save  that  she  was  with 
mother  in  the  country ;  that  it  had  been  rather 
a  sad  journey,  with  mother  so  quiet  and  pale, 
and  that  she  would  be  very  glad  to  see  supper, 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 


should  it  rise  like  a  fairy  banquet  in  the  midst 
of  these  strange  surroundings. 

It  was  only  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  rail- 
way station  to  the  Shaker  Settlement,  and 
Susanna  knew  the  road  well,  for  she  had  driven 
over  it  more  than  once  as  child  and  girl.  A  boy 
would  bring  the  little  trunk  that  contained  their 
simple  necessities  later  on  in  the  evening,  so 
she  and  Sue  would  knock  at  the  door  of  the 
house  where  visitors  were  admitted,  and  be 
undisturbed  by  any  gossiping  company  while 
they  were  pleading  their  case. 

"Are  we  most  there,  Mardie?"  asked  Sue 
for  the  twentieth  time.  "Look  at  me!  I'm 
being  a  butterfly,  or  perhaps  a  white  pigeon. 
No,  I  'd  rather  be  a  butterfly,  and  then  I  can 
skim  along  faster  and  move  my  wings!" 

The  airy  little  figure,  all  lightness  and 
brightness,  danced  along  the  road,  the  white 
cotton  dress  rising  and  falling,  the  white- 
stockinged  legs  much  in  evidence,  the  arms 
outstretched  as  if  in  flight,  straw  hat  falling  off 


MOTHER  ANN'S  CHILDREN 

yellow  hair,  and  a  little  wisp  of  swansdown 
scarf  floating  out  behind  like  the  drapery  of 
a  baby  Mercury. 

"  We  are  almost  there,"  her  mother  answered. 
"You  can  see  the  buildings  now,  if  you  will 
stop  being  a  butterfly.  Don't  you  like  them  ?" 

"Yes,  I  'specially  like  them  all  so  white.  Is 
it  a  town,  Mardie?" 

"It  is  a  village,  but  not  quite  like  other 
villages.  I  have  told  you  often  about  the 
Shaker  Settlement,  where  your  grandmother 
brought  me  once  when  I  was  just  your  age. 
There  was  a  thunder-storm ;  they  kept  us  all 
night,  and  were  so  kind  that  I  never  forgot 
them.  Then  your  grandmother  and  I  stopped 
off  once  when  we  were  going  to  Boston.  I  was 
ten  then,  and  I  remember  more  about  it. 
The  same  sweet  Eldress  was  there  both  times." 

"What  is  an  El-der-ess,  Mardie?" 

"A  kind  of  everybody's  mother,  she  seemed 
to  be,"  Susanna  responded,  with  a  catch  in  her 
breath. 


now,  Mardie 

"I'm  hoping  so,  but  it  is  eighteen  years  ago. 
I  was  ten  and  she  was  about  forty,  I  should 
think." 

"Then  o'  course  she'll  be  dead,"  said  Sue, 
cheerfully,  "or  either  she'll  have  no  teeth  or 
hair." 

"People  don't  always  die  before  they  are 
sixty,  Sue." 

"Do  they  die  when  they  want  to,  or  when 
they  must?" 

"  Always  when  they  must ;  never,  never  when 
they  want  to,"  answered  Sue's  mother. 

"But  o'  course  they  would  n't  ever  want  to 
if  they  had  any  little  girls  to  be  togedder  with, 
like  you  and  me,  Mardie?"  And  Sue  looked 
up  with  eyes  that  were  always  like  two  inter- 
rogation points,  eager  by  turns  and  by  turns 
wistful,  but  never  satisfied. 

"No,"  Susanna  replied  brokenly,  "of 
course  they  would  n't,  unless  sometimes  they 


MOTHER  ANN'S   CHILDREN 

were  wicked  for  a  minute  or  two  and  for- 
got." 

"Do  the  Shakers  shake  all  the  time,  Mardie, 
or  just  once  in  a  while  ?  And  shall  I  see  them 
doit?" 

"Sue,  dear,  I  can't  explain  everything  in  the 
world  to  you  while  you  are  so  little;  you  really 
must  wait  until  you're  more  grown  up.  The 
Shakers  don't  shake  and  the  Quakers  don't 
quake,  and  when  you're  older,  I'll  try  to  make 
you  understand  why  they  were  called  so  and 
why  they  kept  the  name." 

"Maybe  the  El-der-ess  can  make  me  under- 
stand right  off  now ;  I'd  'specially  like  it."  And 
Sue  ran  breathlessly  along  to  the  gate  where 
the  North  Family  House  stood  in  its  stately, 
white-and-green  austerity. 

Susanna  followed,  and  as  she  caught  up  with 
the  impetuous  Sue,  the  front  door  of  the  house 
opened  and  a  figure  appeared  on  the  threshold. 
Mother  and  child  quickened  their  pace  and 
went  up  the  steps,  Susanna  with  a  hopeless 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

burden  of  fear  and  embarrassment  clogging 
her  tongue  and  dragging  at  her  feet;  Sue  so 
expectant  of  new  disclosures  and  fresh  experi- 
ences that  her  face  beamed  like  a  full  moon. 

Eldress  Abby  (for  it  was  Eldress  Abby)  had 
indeed  survived  the  heavy  weight  of  her  fifty- 
five  or  sixty  summers,  and  looked  as  if  she 
might  reach  a  yet  greater  age.  She  wore  the 
simple  Shaker  afternoon  dress  of  drab  alpaca ; 
an  irreproachable  muslin  surplice  encircled  her 
straight,  spare  shoulders,  while  her  hair  was 
almost  entirely  concealed  by  the  stiffly  wired, 
transparent  white-net  cap  that  served  as  a 
frame  to  the  tranquil  face.  The  face  itself  was 
a  network  of  delicate,  fine  wrinkles ;  but  every 
wrinkle  must  have  been  as  lovely  in  God's 
sight  as  it  was  in  poor  unhappy  Susanna 
Hath  away 's.  Some  of  them  were  graven  by 
self-denial  and  hard  work;  others  perhaps 
meant  the  giving  up  of  home,  of  parents  and 
brothers  or  sisters ;  perhaps  some  worldly  love, 
the  love  that  Father  Adam  bequeathed  to  the 


& 
& 


MOTHER  ANN'S   CHILDREN 

human  family,  had  been  slain  in  Abby's  youth, 
and  the  scars  still  remained  to  show  the  body's 
suffering  and  the  spirit's  triumph.  At  all 
events,  whatever  foes  had  menaced  her  purity 
or  her  tranquillity  had  been  conquered,  and  she 
exhaled  serenity  as  the  rose  sheds  fragrance. 

"Do  you  remember  the  little  Nelson  girl  and 
her  mother  that  stayed  here  all  night,  years 
ago?"  asked  Susanna,  putting  out  her  hand 
timidly. 

"Why,  seems  to  me  I  do,"  assented  Eldress 
Abby,  genially.  "So  many  comes  and  goes  it's 
hard  to  remember  all.  Did  n't  you  come  once 
in  a  thunder-storm?" 

"Yes,  one  of  your  barns  was  struck  by  light- 
ning and  we  sat  up  all  night." 

"  Yee,  yee.1  I  remember  well !  Your  mother 
was  a  beautiful  spirit.   I  could  n't  forget  her." 

"And  we  came  once  again,  mother  and  I, 
and  spent  the  afternoon  with  you,  and  went 
strawberrying  in  the  pasture." 

1  "Yea"  is  always  thus  pronounced  by  the  Shakers. 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

"Yee,  yee,  so  we  did;  I  hope  your  mother 
continues  in  health." 

"She  died  the  very  next  year,"  Susanna 
answered  in  a  trembling  voice,  for  the  time  of 
explanation  was  near  at  hand  and  her  heart 
failed  her. 

"Won't  you  come  into  the  sitting-room  and 
rest  awhile  ?  You  must  be  tired  walking  from 
the  deepot." 

"No,  thank  you,  not  just  yet.  I'll  step  into 
the  front  entry  a  minute.  —  Sue,  run  and  sit  in 
that  rocking-chair  on  the  porch  and  watch  the 
cows  going  into  the  big  barn.  —  Do  you  re- 
member, Eldress  Abby,  the  second  time  I  came, 
how  you  sat  me  down  in  the  kitchen  with  a 
bowl  of  wild  strawberries  to  hull  for  supper? 
They  were  very  small  and  ripe ;  I  did  my  best, 
for  I  never  meant  to  be  careless,  but  the  bowl 
slipped  and  fell,  —  my  legs  were  too  short  to 
reach  the  floor,  and  I  could  n't  make  a  lap,  — 
so  in  trying  to  pick  up  the  berries  I  spilled  juice 
on  my  dress,  and  on  the  white  apron  you  had 


MOTHER  ANN'S   CHILDREN 

tied  on  for  me.  Then  my  fingers  were  stained 
and  wet  and  the  hulls  kept  falling  in  with  the 
soft  berries,  and  when  you  came  in  and  saw  me 
you  held  up  your  hands  and  said,  'Dear,  dear! 
you  have  made  a  mess  of  your  work!'  Oh, 
Eldress  Abby,  they  've  come  back  to  me  all  day, 
those  words.  I've  tried  hard  to  be  good,  but 
somehow  I've  made  just  such  a  mess  of  my 
life  as  I  made  of  hulling  the  berries.  The  bowl 
is  broken,  I  have  n't  much  fruit  to  show,  and  I 
am  all  stained  and  draggled.  I  should  n't  have 
come  to  Albion  on  the  five-o'clock  train  —  that 
was  an  accident;  I  meant  to  come  at  noon, 
when  you  could  turn  me  away  if  you  wanted 
to." 

"Nay,  that  is  not  the  Shaker  habit,"  remon- 
strated Abby.  "You  and  the  child  can  sleep  in 
one  of  the  spare  chambers  at  the  Office  Build- 
ing and  be  welcome." 

"But  I  want  much  more  than  that,"  said 
Susanna,  tearfully.  "I  want  to  come  and  live 
here,  where  there  is  no  marrying  nor  giving  in 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

marriage.  I  am  so  tired  with  my  disappoint- 
ments and  discouragements  and  failures  that 
it  is  no  use  to  try  any  longer.  I  am  Mrs.  Hatha- 
way, and  Sue  is  my  child,  but  I  have  left  my 
husband  for  good  and  all,  and  I  only  want  to 
spend  the  rest  of  my  days  here  in  peace  and 
bring  up  Sue  to  a  more  tranquil  life  than  I  have 
ever  had.  I  have  a  little  money,  so  that  I  shall 
not  be  a  burden  to  you,  and  I  will  work  from 
morning  to  night  at  any  task  you  set  me." 

"I  will  talk  to  the  Family,"  said  Eldress 
Abby,  gravely;  "but  there  are  a  good  many 
things  to  settle  before  we  can  say  yee  to  all 
you  ask." 

"  Let  me  confess  everything  freely  and  fully," 
pleaded  Susanna,  "and  if  you  think  I'm  to 
blame,  I  will  go  away  at  once." 

"Nay,  this  is  no  time  for  that.  It  is  our  duty 
to  receive  all  and  try  all ;  then  if  you  should  be 
gathered  in,  you  would  unburden  your  heart 
to  God  through  the  Sister  appointed  to  receive 
your  confession." 


MOTHER  ANN'S   CHILDREN 

"Will  vSue  have  to  sleep  in  the  children's 
building  away  from  me?" 

"Nay,  not  now;  you  are  company,  not  a 
Shaker,  and  anyway  you  could  keep  the  child 
with  you  till  she  is  a  little  older;  that's  not  for- 
bidden at  first,  though  there  comes  a  time 
when  the  ties  of  the  flesh  must  be  broken !  All 
you've  got  to  do  now's  to  be  'pure  and  peace- 
able, gentle,  easy  to  be  entreated,  and  without 
hypocrisy.'  That's  about  all  there  is  to  the 
Shaker  creed,  and  that 's  enough  to  keep  us  all 
busy." 

Sue  ran  in  from  the  porch  excitedly  and 
caught  her  mother's  hand. 

"The  cows  have  all  gone  into  the  barn,"  she 
chattered;  "and  the  Shaker  gentlemen  are 
milking  them,  and  not  one  of  them  is  shaking 
the  least  bit,  for  I  'specially  noticed;  and  I 
looked  in  through  the  porch  window,  and  there 
is  nice  supper  on  a  table  —  bread  and  butter 
and  milk  and  dried-apple  sauce  and  ginger- 
bread and  cottage  cheese.  Is  it  for  us,  Mardie  ? ' ' 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

Susanna's  lip  was  trembling  and  her  face  was 
pale.  She  lifted  her  swimming  eyes  to  the  Sis- 
ter's and  asked,  "Is  it  for  us,  Eldress  Abby?" 

"Yee,  it's  for  you,"  she  answered;  "there's 
always  a  Shaker  supper  on  the  table  for  all  who 
want  to  leave  the  husks  and  share  the  feast. 
Come  right  in  and  help  yourselves.  I  will  sit 
down  with  you." 


Supper  was  over,  and  Susanna  and  Sue  were 
lying  in  a  little  upper  chamber  under  the  stars. 
It  was  the  very  one  that  Susanna  had  slept  in 
as  a  child,  or  that  she  had  been  put  to  bed  in, 
for  there  was  little  sleep  that  night  for  any  one. 
She  had  leaned  on  the  window-sill  with  her 
mother  and  watched  the  pillar  of  flame  and 
smoke  ascend  from  the  burning  barn ;  and  once 
in  the  early  morning  she  had  stolen  out  of  bed, 
and,  kneeling  by  the  open  window,  had  watched 
the  two  silent  Shaker  brothers  who  were  guard- 
ing the  smoldering  ruins,  fearful  lest  the  wind 
should  rise  and  bear  any  spark  to  the  roofs  of 


MOTHER  ANN'S   CHILDREN 

the  precious  buildings  they  had  labored  so  hard 
to  save. 

The  chamber  was  spotless  and  devoid  of 
ornament.  The  paint  was  robin's  egg  blue  and 
of  a  satin  gloss.  The  shining  floor  was  of  the 
same  color,  and  neat  braided  rugs  covered 
exposed  places  near  the  bureau,  washstand,and 
bed.  Various  useful  articles  of  Shaker  manu- 
facture interested  Sue  greatly:  the  exquisite 
straw-work  that  covered  the  whisk-broom; 
the  mending-basket,  pincushion,  needle-book, 
spool  and  watch  cases,  hair-receivers,  pin- 
trays,  might  all  have  been  put  together  by  fairy 
fingers. 

Sue's  prayers  had  been  fervent,  but  a  trifle 
disjointed,  covering  all  subjects  from  Jack  and 
Fardie,  to  Grandma  in  heaven  and  Aunt  Louisa 
at  the  farm,  with  special  references  to  El-der- 
ess  Abby  and  the  Shaker  cows,  and  petitions 
that  the  next  day  be  fair  so  that  she  could  see 
them  milked.  Excitement  at  her  strange,  unac- 
customed  surroundings    had   put  the  child's 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

mind  in  a  very  whirl,  and  she  had  astonished 
her  mother  with  a  very  new  and  disturbing 
version  of  the  Lord's  prayer,  ending:  "God 
give  us  our  debts  and  help  us  to  forget  our 
debtors  and  theirs  shall  be  the  glory,  Amen." 
Now  she  lay  quietly  on  the  wall  side  of  the 
clean,  narrow  bed,  while  her  mother  listened 
to  hear  the  regular  breathing  that  would  mean 
that  she  was  off  for  the  land  of  dreams.  The 
child's  sleep  would  leave  the  mother  free  to  slip 
out  of  bed  and  look  at  the  stars ;  free  to  pray  and 
long  and  wonder  and  suffer  and  repent,  —  not 
wholly,  but  in  part,  for  she  was  really  at  peace 
in  all  but  the  innermost  citadel  of  her  con- 
science. She  had  left  her  husband,  and  for  the 
moment,  at  all  events,  she  was  fiercely  glad; 
but  she  had  left  her  boy,  and  Jack  was  only 
ten.  Jack  was  not  the  helpless,  clinging  sort; 
he  was  a  little  piece  of  his  father,  and  his  favor- 
ite. Aunt  Louisa  would  surely  take  him,  and 
Jack  would  scarcely  feel  the  difference,  for  he 
had  never  shown  any  special  affection  for  any- 


MOTHER   ANN'S   CHILDREN 

body.  Still  he  was  her  child,  nobody  could  pos- 
sibly get  around  that  fact,  and  it  was  a  stum- 
bling-block in  the  way  of  forgetfulness  or  ease 
of  mind.  Oh,  but  for  that,  what  unspeakable 
content  she  could  feel  in  this  quiet  haven,  this 
self-respecting  solitude !  To  have  her  thoughts, 
her  emotions,  her  words,  her  self,  to  herself 
once  more,  as  she  had  had  them  before  she  was 
married  at  seventeen.  To  go  to  sleep  in  peace, 
without  listening  for  a  step  she  had  once  heard 
with  gladness,  but  that  now  sometimes  stum- 
bled unsteadily  on  the  stair;  or  to  dream  as 
happy  women  dreamed,  without  being  roused 
by  the  voice  of  the  present  John,  a  voice  so 
different  from  that  of  the  past  John  that  it 
made  the  heart  ache  to  listen  to  it. 

Sue's  voice  broke  the  stillness :  "  How  long 
are  we  going  to  stay  here,  Mardie?" 

"I  don't  know,  Sue;  I  think  perhaps  as  long 
as  they  '11  let  us." 

"Will  Fardie  come  and  see  us?" 

"I  don't  expect  him." 


"She'll  scold  him  awfully,  but  he  never 
cries;  he  just  says,  'Pooh!  what  do  I  care?' 
Oh,  I  forgot  to  pray  for  that  very  nicest  Shaker 
gentleman  that  said  he'd  let  me  help  him  feed 
the  calves !  Had  n't  I  better  get  out  of  bed  and 
do  it?    I  'd  'specially  like  to." 

"Very  well,  Sue;  and  then  go  to  sleep." 

Safely  in  bed  again,  there  was  a  long  pause, 
and  then  the  eager  little  voice  began,  "Who'll 
take  care  of  Fardie  now?" 

"  He 's  a  big  man ;  he  does  n't  need  anybody." 

"What  if  he's  sick?" 

"We  must  go  back  to  him,  I  suppose." 

"To-morrow  's  Sunday;  what  if  he  needs  us 
to-morrow,  Mardie?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know !  Oh,  Sue,  Sue, 
don't  ask  your  wretched  mother  any  more 
questions,  for  she  cannot  bear  them  to-night. 
Cuddle  up  close  to  her ;  love  her  and  forgive  her 
and  help  her  to  know  what 's  right." 


II 

WHEN  Susanna  Nelson  at  seventeen 
married  John  Hathaway,  she  had  the 
usual  cogent  reasons  for  so  doing,  with  some 
rather  more  unusual  ones  added  thereto.  She 
was  alone  in  the  world,  and  her  life  with  an 
uncle,  her  mother's  only  relative,  was  an  un- 
happy one.  No  assistance  in  the  household 
tasks  that  she  had  ever  been  able  to  render 
made  her  a  welcome  member  of  the  family  or 
kept  her  from  feeling  a  burden,  and  she  be- 
longed no  more  to  the  little  circle  at  seventeen, 
than  she  did  when  she  became  a  part  of  it  at 
twelve.  The  hope  of  being  independent  and 
earning   her    own    living   had   sustained   her 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

through  the  last  year ;  but  it  was  a  very  timid, 
self-distrustful,  love-starved  little  heart  that 
John  Hathaway  stormed  and  carried  by  as- 
sault. Her  girl's  life  in  a  country  school  and 
her  uncle's  very  rigid  and  orthodox  home  had 
been  devoid  of  emotion  or  experience ;  still,  her 
mother  had  early  sown  seeds  in  her  mind  and 
spirit  that  even  in  the  most  arid  soil  were  cer- 
tain to  flower  into  beauty  when  the  time  for 
flowering  came;  and  intellectually  Susanna 
was  the  clever  daughter  of  clever  parents.  She 
was  very  immature,  because,  after  early  child- 
hood, her  environment  had  not  been  favorable 
to  her  development.  At  seventeen  she  began  to 
dream  of  a  future  as  bright  as  the  past  had  been 
dreary  and  uneventful.  Visions  of  happiness, 
of  goodness,  and  of  service  haunted  her,  and 
sometimes,  gleaming  through  the  mists  of 
dawning  womanhood,  the  figure,  all  luminous, 
of  The  Man! 

When  John  Hathaway  appeared  on  the  hori- 
zon, she  promptly  clothed  him  in  all  the  beau- 


A   SON   OF   ADAM 

tif  ul  garments  of  her  dreams ;  they  were  a  gro- 
tesque misfit,  but  when  we  intimate  that  women 
have  confused  the  dream  and  the  realitv  before, 
and  may  even  do  so  again,  we  make  the  only 
possible  excuse  for  poor  little  Susanna  Nelson. 
John  Hathaway  was  the  very  image  of  the 
outer  world  that  lay  beyond  Susanna's  village. 
He  was  a  fairly  prosperous,  genial,  handsome 
young  merchant,  who  looked  upon  life  as  a  place 
furnished  by  Providence  in  which  to  have  "a 
good  time."  His  parents  had  frequently  told 
him  that  it  was  expedient  for  him  to  "settle 
down,"  and  he  supposed  that  he  might  finally 
do  so,  if  he  should  ever  find  a  girl  who  would 
tempt  him  to  relinquish  his  liberty.  (The  line 
that  divides  liberty  and  license  was  a  little 
vague  to  John  Hathaway!)  It  is  curious  that 
he  should  not  have  chosen  for  his  life-partner 
some  thoughtless,  rosy,  romping  young  person, 
whose  highest  conception  of  connubial  happi- 
ness would  have  been  to  drive  twenty  miles  to 
the  seashore  on  a  Sunday,  and  having  par- 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

taken  of  all  the  season's  delicacies,  solid  and 
liquid,  to  come  home  hilarious  by  moonlight. 
That,  however,  is  not  the  way  the  little  love- 
imps  do  their  work  in  the  world ;  or  is  it  pos- 
sible that  they  are  not  imps  at  all  who  provoke 
and  stimulate  and  arrange  these  strange  mar- 
riages —  not  imps,  but  honest,  chastening  little 
character-builders  ?  In  any  event,  the  moment 
that  John  Hathaway  first  beheld  Susanna  Nel- 
son was  the  moment  of  his  surrender ;  yet  the 
wooing  was  as  incomprehensible  as  that  of 
a  fragile,  dainty  little  hummingbird  by  a  pom- 
pous, greedy,  big-breasted  robin. 

Susanna  was  like  a  New  England  anemone. 
Her  face  was  oval  in  shape  and  as  smooth  and 
pale  as  a  pearl.  Her  hair  was  dark,  not  very 
heavy,  and  as  soft  as  a  child's.  Her  lips  were 
delicate  and  sensitive,  her  eyes  a  cool  gray,  — 
clear,  steady,  and  shaded  by  darker  lashes. 
When  John  Hathaway  met  her  shy,  maidenly 
glance  and  heard  her  pretty,  dovelike  voice,  it 
is  strange  he  did  not  see  that  there  was  a  bit 


A  SON   OF  ADAM 

too  much  saint  in  her  to  make  her  a  willing 
comrade  of  his  gay,  roistering  life.  But  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  John  Hathaway  saw  nothing  at 
all;  nothing  but  that  Susanna  Nelson  was  a 
lovely  girl  and  he  wanted  her  for  his  own.  The 
type  was  one  he  had  never  met  before,  one  that 
allured  him  by  its  mysteries  and  piqued  him 
by  its  shy  aloofness. 

John  had  a  "way  with  him,"  —  a  way  that 
speedily  won  Susanna;  and  after  all  there  was 
a  best  to  him  as  well  as  a  worst.  He  had  a 
twinkling  eye,  an  infectious  laugh,  a  sweet  dis- 
position, and  while  he  was  over-susceptible  to 
the  charm  of  a  pretty  face,  he  had  a  chivalrous 
admiration  for  all  women,  coupled,  it  must  be 
confessed,  with  a  decided  lack  of  discrimina- 
tion in  values.  His  boyish  light-heartedness 
had  a  charm  for  everybody,  including  Susanna ; 
a  charm  that  lasted  until  she  discovered  that 
his  heart  was  light  not  only  when  it  ought  to 
be  light,  but  when  it  ought  to  be  heavy. 

He  was  very  much  in  love  with  her,  but  there 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

was  nothing  particularly  exclusive,  unique,  in- 
dividual, or  interesting  about  his  passion  at  that 
time.  It  was  of  the  every-day  sort  which  carries 
a  well-meaning  man  to  the  altar,  and  some- 
times, in  cases  of  exceptional  fervor  and  dura- 
tion, even  a  little  farther.  Stock  sizes  of  this 
article  are  common  and  inexpensive,  and  John 
Hathaway's  love  when  he  married  Susanna 
was,  judged  by  the  highest  standards,  about 
as  trivial  an  affair  as  Cupid  ever  put  upon  the 
market  or  a  man  ever  offered  to  a  woman. 
Susanna  on  the  same  day  offered  John,  or 
the  wooden  idol  she  was  worshiping  as  John, 
her  whole  self  —  mind,  body,  heart,  and  spirit. 
So  the  couple  were  united,  and  smilingly  signed 
the  marriage-register,  a  rite  by  which  their  love 
for  each  other  was  supposed  to  be  made 
eternal. 

"Will  you  love  me?"  said  he. 
"Will  you  love  me?"  said  she. 

Then  they  answered  together :  — 
"Through  foul  and  fair  weather, 

From  sunrise  to  moonrise, 


From  moonrise  to  sunrise, 

By  heath  and  by  harbour, 

In  orchard  or  arbour, 

In  the  time  of  the  rose, 

In  the  time  of  the  snows, 

Through  smoke  and  through  smother 

We'll  love  one  another!" 


Cinderella,  when  the  lover-prince  discovers 
her  and  fits  the  crystal  slipper  to  her  foot, 
makes  short  work  of  flinging  away  her  rags; 
and  in  some  such  pretty,  airy,  unthinking  way 
did  Susanna  fling  aside  the  dullness,  inhospi- 
tality,  and  ugliness  of  her  uncle's  home  and 
depart  in  a  cloud  of  glory  on  her  wedding 
journey.  She  had  been  lonely,  now  she  would 
have  companionship.  She  had  been  of  no  con- 
sequence, now  she  would  be  queen  of  her  own 
small  domain.  She  had  been  last  with  every- 
body, now  she  would  be  first  with  one,  at  least. 
She  had  worked  hard  and  received  neither 
compensation  nor  gratitude ;  henceforward  her 
service  would  be  gladly  rendered  at  an  altar 
where  votive  offerings  would  not  be  taken  as  a 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

matter  of  course.  She  was  only  a  slip  of  a  girl 
now;  marriage  and  housewifely  cares  would 
make  her  a  woman.  Some  time  perhaps  the 
last  great  experience  of  life  would  come  to  her, 
and  then  what  a  crown  of  joys  would  be  hers, 
—  love,  husband,  home,  children !  What  a 
vision  it  was,  and  how  soon  the  chief  glory  of 
it  faded ! 

Never  were  two  beings  more  hopelessly 
unlike  than  John  Hathaway  single  and  John 
Hathaway  married,  but  the  bliss  lasted  a  few 
years,  nevertheless :  partly  because  Susanna's 
charm  was  deep  and  penetrating,  the  sort 
to  hold  a  false  man  for  a  time  and  a  true 
man  forever;  partly  because  she  tried,  as  a 
girl  or  woman  has  seldom  tried  before,  to 
do  her  duty  and  to  keep  her  own  ideal  unshat- 
tered. 

John  had  always  been  convivial,  but  Su- 
sanna at  seventeen  had  been  at  once  too  in- 
nocent and  too  ignorant  to  judge  a  man's 
tendencies  truly,  or  to  rate  his  character  at  its 


A  SON   OF  ADAM 

real  worth.  As  time  went  on,  his  earlier  lean- 
ings grew  more  definite ;  he  spent  on  pleasure 
far  more  than  he  could  afford,  and  his  conduct 
became  a  byword  in  the  neighborhood.  His 
boy  he  loved.  He  felt  on  a  level  with  Jack, 
could  understand  him,  play  with  him,  punish 
him,  and  make  friends  with  him;  but  little  Sue 
was  different.  She  always  seemed  to  him  the 
concentrated  essence  of  her  mother's  soul,  and 
when  unhappy  days  came,  he  never  looked  in 
her  radiant,  searching  eyes  without  a  con- 
sciousness of  inferiority.  The  little  creature  had 
loved  her  jolly,  handsome,  careless  father  at 
first,  even  though  she  feared  him ;  but  of  late 
she  had  grown  shy,  silent,  and  timid,  for  his 
indifference  chilled  her  and  she  flung  herself 
upon  her  mother's  love  with  an  almost  unchild- 
like  intensity.  This  unhappy  relation  between 
the  child  and  the  father  gave  Susanna's  heart 
new  pangs.  She  still  loved  her  husband,  — not 
dearly,  but  a  good  deal;  and  over  and  above 
that  remnant  of  the  old  love  which  still  en- 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

dured  she  gave  him  unstinted  care  and  hopeful 
maternal  tenderness. 

The  crash  came  in  course  of  time.  John 
transcended  the  bounds  of  his  wife's  patience 
more  and  more.  She  made  her  last  protests; 
then  she  took  one  passionate  day  to  make  up 
her  mind,  —  a  day  when  John  and  the  boy  were 
away  together ;  a  day  of  complete  revolt  against 
everything  she  was  facing  in  the  present,  and, 
so  far  as  she  could  see,  everything  that  she  had 
to  face  in  the  future.  Prayer  for  light  left  her  in 
darkness,  and  she  had  no  human  creature  to 
advise  her.  Conscience  was  overthrown;  she 
could  see  no  duty  save  to  her  own  outraged 
personality.  Often  and  often  during  the  year 
just  past  she  had  thought  of  the  peace,  the 
grateful  solitude  and  shelter  of  that  Shaker 
Settlement  hidden  among  New  England  or- 
chards; that  quiet  haven  where  there  was 
neither  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage.  Now 
her  bruised  heart  longed  for  such  a  life  of 
nun-like    simplicity  and    consecration,  where 


s 


men  ana  women 

ters,  where  they  worked  side  by  side  with  no 
thought  of  personal  passion  or  personal  gain, 
but  only  for  the  common  good  of  the  commu- 
nity. 

Albion  village  was  less  than  three  hours  dis- 
tant by  train.  She  hastily  gathered  her  plainest 
clothes  and  Sue's,  packed  them  in  a  small 
trunk,  took  her  mother's  watch,  her  own  little 
store  of  money  and  the  twenty-dollar  gold 
piece  John's  senior  partner  had  given  Sue  on 
her  last  birthday,  wrote  a  letter  of  good-by  to 
John,  and  went  out  of  her  cottage  gate  in  a 
storm  of  feeling  so  tumultuous  that  there  was 
no  room  for  reflection.  Besides,  she  had  re- 
flected, and  reflected,  for  months  and  months, 
so  she  would  have  said,  and  the  time  had  come 
for  action.  Susanna  was  not  unlettered,  but 
she  certainly  had  never  read  Meredith  or  she 
would  have  learned  that  "love  is  an  affair  of 
two,  and  only  for  two  that  can  be  as  quick,  as 
constant  in  intercommunication  as  are  sun  and 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

earth,  through  the  cloud,  or  face  to  face.  They 
take  their  breath  of  life  from  each  other  in 
signs  of  affection,  proofs  of  faithfulness,  incen- 
tives to  admiration.  But  a  solitary  soul  drag- 
ging a  log  must  make  the  log  a  God  to  rejoice 
in  the  burden."  The  demigod  that  poor,  blind 
Susanna  married  had  vanished,  and  she  could 
drag  the  log  no  longer,  but  she  made  one  mis- 
take in  judging  her  husband,  in  that  she  re- 
garded him,  at  thirty-two,  as  a  finished  pro- 
duct, a  man  who  was  finally  this  and  that,  and 
behaved  thus  and  so,  and  would  never  be  any 
different. 

The  "age  of  discretion"  is  a  movable  feast 
of  extraordinary  uncertainty,  and  John  Hatha- 
way was  a  little  behindhand  in  overtaking  it. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  never  for  an  instant 
looked  life  squarely  in  the  face.  He  took  a 
casual  glance  at  it  now  and  then,  after  he  was 
married,  but  it  presented  no  very  distinguish- 
able features,  nothing  to  make  him  stop  and 
think,  nothing  to  arouse  in  him  any  special 


"growing  up,"  however,  sooner  or  later,  at 
least  most  of  them  have,  and  that  possibility 
was  not  sufficiently  in  the  foreground  of  Su- 
sanna's mind  when  she  finished  what  she  con- 
sidered an  exhaustive  study  of  her  husband's 
character. 

"I  am  leaving  you,  John  [she  wrote],  to  see 
if  I  can  keep  the  little  love  I  have  left  for  you 
as  the  father  of  my  children.  I  seem  to  have 
lost  all  the  rest  of  it  living  with  you.  I  am  not 
perfectly  sure  that  I  am  right  in  going,  for 
everybody  seems  to  think  that  women,  mothers 
especially,  should  bear  anything  rather  than 
desert  the  home.  I  could  not  take  Jack  away, 
for  you  love  him  and  he  will  be  a  comfort  to 
you.  A  comfort  to  you,  yes,  but  what  will  you 
be  to  him  now  that  he  is  growing  older  ?  That 
is  the  thought  that  troubles  me,  yet  I  dare  not 
take  him  with  me  when  he  is  half  yours.  You 
will  not  miss  me,  nor  will  the  loss  of  Sue  make 
any  difference.    Oh,  John!  how  can  you  help 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

loving  that  blessed  little  creature,  so  much  bet- 
ter and  so  much  more  gifted  than  either  of  us 
that  we  can  only  wonder  how  we  came  to  be 
her  father  and  mother  ?  Your  sin  against  her  is 
greater  than  that  against  me,  for  at  least  you 
are  not  responsible  for  bringing  me  into  the 
world.  I  know  Louisa  will  take  care  of  Jack, 
and  she  lives  so  near  that  you  can  see  him  as 
often  as  you  wish.  I  shall  let  her  know  my  ad- 
dress, which  I  have  asked  her  to  keep  to  her- 
self. She  will  write  to  me  if  you  or  Jack  should 
be  seriously  ill,  but  not  for  any  other  reason. 

"As  for  you,  there  is  nothing  more  that  I 
can  say  except  to  confess  freely  that  I  was  not 
the  right  wife  for  you  and  that  mine  was  not 
the  only  mistake.  I  have  tried  my  very  best 
to  meet  you  in  everything  that  was  not  abso- 
lutely wrong,  and  I  have  used  all  the  argu- 
ments I  could  think  of,  but  it  only  made  mat- 
ters worse.  I  thought  I  knew  you,  John,  in  the 
old  days.  How  comes  it  that  we  have  traveled 
so  far  apart,  we  who  began  together  ?  It  seems 


ip  your  lite  sern 
is  not  life,  the  sorry  thing  you  have  lived  lately, 
but  I  cannot  wait  any  longer !  I  am  tired,  tired, 
tired  of  waiting  and  hoping,  too  tired  to  do 
anything  but  drag  myself  away  from  the  sight 
of  your  folly.  You  have  wasted  our  children's 
substance,  indulged  your  appetites  until  you 
have  lost  the  respect  of  your  best  friends,  and 
you  have  made  me  —  who  was  your  choice, 
your  wife,  the  head  of  your  house,  the  woman 
who  brought  your  children  into  the  world  — 
you  have  made  me  an  object  of  pity;  a  poor, 
neglected  thing  who  could  not  meet  her  neigh- 
bors' eyes  without  blushing." 

When  Jack  and  his  father  returned  from 
their  outing  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
having  had  supper  at  a  wayside  hotel,  the  boy 
went  to  bed  philosophically,  lighting  his  lamp 
for  himself,  the  conclusion  being  that  the  two 
other  members  of  the  household  were  a  little 
late,  but  would  be  in  presently. 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

The  next  morning  was  bright  and  fair.  Jack 
waked  at  cockcrow,  and  after  calling  to  his 
mother  and  Sue,  jumped  out  of  bed,  ran  into 
their  rooms  to  find  them  empty,  then  bounced 
down  the  stairs  two  at  a  time,  going  through 
the  sitting-room  on  his  way  to  find  Ellen  in  the 
kitchen.  His  father  was  sitting  at  the  table 
with  the  still-lighted  student  lamp  on  it;  the 
table  where  lessons  had  been  learned,  books 
read,  stories  told,  mending  done,  checkers  and 
dominoes  played ;  the  big,  round  walnut  table 
that  was  the  focus  of  the  family  life  —  but 
mother's  table,  not  father's. 

John  Hathaway  had  never  left  his  chair  nor 
taken  off  his  hat.  His  cane  leaned  against  his 
knee,  his  gloves  were  in  his  left  hand,  while 
the  right  held  Susanna's  letter. 

He  was  asleep,  although  his  lips  twitched 
and  he  stirred  uneasily.  His  face  was  haggard, 
and  behind  his  closed  lids,  somewhere  in  the 
centre  of  thought  and  memory,  a  train  of  fiery 
words  burned  in  an  ever-widening  circle,  round 


s 


A  SON   OF  ADAM 

and  round  and  round,  ploughing,  searing  their 
way  through  some  obscure  part  of  him  that 
had  heretofore  been  without  feeling,  but  was 
now  all  quick  and  alive  with  sensation. 

"  You  have  made  me  —  who  was  your 
choice,  your  wife,  the  head  of  your  house,  the 
woman  who  brought  your  children  into  the 
world  —  you  have  made  me  an  object  of  pity  ;  a 
poor,  neglected  thing  who  could  not  meet  her 
neighbors''  eyes  without  blushing :" 

Any  one  who  wished  to  pierce  John  Hatha- 
way's  armor  at  that  period  of  his  life  would 
have  had  to  use  a  very  sharp  and  pointed 
arrow,  for  he  was  well  wadded  with  the  belief 
that  a  man  has  a  right  to  do  what  he  likes. 
Susanna's  shaft  was  tipped  with  truth  and 
dipped  in  the  blood  of  her  outraged  heart. 
The  stored-up  force  of  silent  years  went  into 
the  speeding  of  it.  She  had  never  shot  an 
arrow  before,  and  her  skill  was  instinctive 
rather  than  scientific,  but  the  powers  were  on 
her  side  and  she  aimed  better  than  she  knew 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

—  those  who  took  note  of  John  Hathaway's 
behavior  that  summer  would  have  testified 
willingly  to  that.  It  was  the  summer  in  which 
his  boyish  irresponsibility  slipped  away  from 
him  once  and  for  all ;  a  summer  in  which  the 
face  of  life  ceased  to  be  an  indistinguishable 
mass  of  meaningless  events  and  disclosed  an 
order,  a  reason,  a  purpose  hitherto  unseen  and 
undefined.  The  boy  "grew  up,"  rather  tardily 
it  must  be  confessed.  His  soul  had  not  added 
a  cubit  to  its  stature  in  sunshine,  gayety,  and 
prosperity;  it  took  the  shock  of  grief,  hurt 
pride,  solitude,  and  remorse  to  make  a  man  of 
John  Hathaway. 


IT  was  a  radiant  July  morning  in  Albion 
village,  and  when  Sue  first  beheld  it  from 
the  bedroom  window  at  the  Shaker  Settlement, 
she  had  wished  ardently  that  it  might  never, 
never  grow  dark,  and  that  Jack  and  Fardie 
might  be  having  the  very  same  sunshine  in 
Farnham.  It  was  not  noon  yet,  but  experience 
had  in  some  way  tempered  the  completeness 
of  her  joy,  for  the  marks  of  tears  were  on  her 
pretty  little  face.  She  had  neither  been  scolded 
nor  punished,  but  she  had  been  dragged  away 
from  a  delicious  play  without  any  adequate 
reason.  She  had  disappeared  after  breakfast, 
while  Susanna  was  helping  Sister  Tabitha  with 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

the  beds  and  the  dishes,  but  as  she  was  the  most 
docile  of  children,  her  mother  never  thought  of 
anxiety.  At  nine  o'clock  Eldress  Abby  took 
Susanna  to  the  laundry  house,  and  there  under 
a  spreading  maple  were  Sue  and  the  two 
youngest  little  Shakeresses,  children  of  seven 
and  eight  respectively.  Sue  was  directing  the 
plays :  chattering,  planning,  ordering,  and 
suggesting  expedients  to  her  slower-minded 
and  less-experienced  companions.  They  had 
dragged  a  large  box  from  one  of  the  sheds  and 
set  it  up  under  the  tree.  The  interior  had  been 
quickly  converted  into  a  commodious  resi- 
dence, one  not  in  the  least  of  a  Shaker  type. 
Small  bluing-boxes  served  for  bedstead  and 
dining-table,  bits  of  broken  china  for  the 
dishes,  while  tiny  flat  stones  were  the  seats, 
and  four  clothes-pins,  tastefully  clad  in  hand- 
kerchiefs, surrounded  the  table. 

"Do  they  kneel  in  prayer  before  they  eat, 
as  all  Believers  do?"  asked  Shaker  Mary. 

"I  don't  believe  Adam  and  Eve  was  Be- 


pray,  anyway,  though  clothes-pins  don't  kneel 
nicely." 

"I've  got  another  one  all  dressed,"  said 
little  Shaker  Jane. 

"We  can't  have  any  more;  Adam  and  Eve 
did  n't  have  only  two  children  in  my  Sunday- 
school  lesson,  —  Cain  and  Abel,"  objected 
Sue. 

"Can't  this  one  be  a  company?"  pleaded 
Mary,  anxious  not  to  waste  the  clothes-pin. 

"But  where  could  comp'ny  come  from?" 
queried  Sue.  "There  was  n't  any  more  people 
anywheres  but  just  Adam  and  Eve  and  Cain 
and  Abel.  Put  the  clothes-pin  in  your  apron- 
pocket,  Jane,  and  bimeby  we'll  let  Eve  have  a 
little  new  baby,  and  I'll  get  Mardie  to  name  it 
right  out  of  the  Bible.  Now  let's  begin.  Adam 
is  awfully  tired  this  morning;  he  says,  'Eve, 
I've  been  workin'  all  night  and  I  can't  eat  my 
breakfuss.'    Now,  Mary,  you  be  Cain,  he's  a 


ex 

( 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

little  boy,  and  you  must  say,  'Fardie,  play  a^ 
little  with  me,  please!'  and  Fardie  will  say, 
'Child'en  should  n't  talk  at  the  — '" 

What  subjects  of  conversation  would  have 
been  aired  at  the  Adamic  family  board  before 
breakfast  was  finished  will  never  be  known, 
for  Eldress  Abby,  with  a  firm  but  not  unkind 
grasp,  took  Shaker  Jane  and  Mary  by  their 
little  hands  and  said,  "Morning's  not  the  time 
for  play;  run  over  to  Sister  Martha  and  help 
her  shell  the  peas;  then  there'll  be  your  seams 
to  oversew." 

Sue  watched  the  disappearing  children  and 
saw  the  fabric  of  her  dream  fade  into  thin  air ; 
but  she  was  a  person  of  considerable  individual- 
ity for  her  years.  Her  lip  quivered,  tears  rushed 
to  her  eyes  and  flowed  silently  down  her 
cheeks,  but  without  a  glance  at  Eldress  Abby 
or  a  word  of  comment  she  walked  slowly  away 
from  the  laundry,  her  chin  high. 

"Sue  meant  all  right,  she  was  only  playing 
the  plays  of  the  world,"  said  Eldress  Abby, 


DIVERS  DOCTRINES 

"but  you  can  well  understand,  Susanna,  that 
we  can't  let  our  Shaker  children  play  that  way 
and  get  wrong  ideas  into  their  heads  at  the  be- 
ginning. We  don't  condemn  an  honest,  orderly 
marriage  as  a  worldly  institution,  but  we  claim 
it  has  no  place  in  Christ's  kingdom ;  therefore 
we  leave  it  to  the  world,  where  it  belongs.  The 
world's  people  live  on  the  lower  plane  of  Adam ; 
the  Shakers  try  to  live  on  the  Christ  plane, 
in  virgin  purity,  long-suffering,  meekness,  and 
patience." 

"I  see,  I  know,"  Susanna  answered  slowly, 
with  a  little  glance  at  injured  Sue  walking 
toward  the  house,  "but  we  need  n't  leave  the 
children  unhappy  this  morning,  for  I  can 
think  of  a  play  that  will  comfort  them  and 
please  you.  — Come  back,  Sue !  Wait  a  minute, 
Mary  and  Jane,  before  you  go  to  Sister 
Martha!  We  will  play  the  story  that  Sister 
Tabitha  told  us  last  week.  Do  you  remember 
about  Mother  Ann  Lee  in  the  English  prison  ? 
The  soap-box  will  be  her  cell,  for  it  was  so 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

_J  small  she  could  not  lie  down  in  it.  Take  some 
(  of  the  shingles,  Jane,  and  close  up  the  open 
side  of  the  box.  Do  you  see  the  large  brown 
spot  in  one  of  them,  Mary?  Push  that  very 
hard  with  a  clothes-pin  and  there'll  be  a  hole 
through  the  shingle;  —  that's  right!  Now, 
Sister  Tabitha  said  that  Mother  Ann  was  kept 
for  days  without  food,  for  people  thought  she 
was  a  wicked,  dangerous  woman,  and  they 
would  have  been  willing  to  let  her  die  of 
starvation.  But  there  was  a  great  key-hole  in 
the  door,  and  James  Whittaker,  a  boy  of  nine- 
teen, who  loved  Mother  Ann  and  believed  in 
her,  put  the  stem  of  a  clay  pipe  in  the  hole  and 
poured  a  mixture  of  wine  and  milk  through  it. 
He  managed  to  do  this  day  after  day,  so  that 
when  the  jailer  opened  the  cell  door,  expecting 
to  find  Mother  Ann  dying  for  lack  of  food,  she 
walked  out  looking  almost  as  strong  and  well 
as  when  she  entered.  You  can  play  it  all  out, 
and  afterwards  you  can  make  the  ship  that 
brought  Mother  Ann  and  the  other  Shakers 


DIVERS  DOCTRINES 

from  Liverpool  to  New  York.  The  clothes- 
pins can  be  —  who  will  they  be,  Jane?" 

"William  Lee,  Nancy  Lee,  James  Whit- 
taker,  and  I  forget  the  others,"  recited  Jane, 
like  an  obedient  parrot. 

"And  it  will  be  splendid  to  have  James 
Whittaker,  for  he  really  came  to  Albion,"  said 
Mary. 

"Perhaps  he  stood  on  this  very  spot  more 
than  once,"  mused  Abby.  "It  was  Mother 
Ann's  vision  that  brought  them  to  this  land, 
— a  vision  of  a  large  tree  with  outstretching 
branches,  every  leaf  of  which  shone  with  the 
brightness  of  a  burning  torch!  Oh!  if  the 
vision  would  only  come  true!  If  Believers 
would  only  come  to  us  as  many  as  the  leaves 
on  the  tree,"  she  sighed,  as  she  and  Susanna 
moved  away  from  the  group  of  chattering  chil- 
dren, all  as  eager  to  play  the  history  of  Shaker- 
ism  as  they  had  been  to  dramatize  the  family 
life  of  Adam  and  Eve. 

"There  must  be  so  many  men  and  women 


i 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

without  ties,  living  useless  lives,  with  no  aim  or 
object  in  them,"  Susanna  said,  "I  wonder  that 
more  of  them  do  not  find  their  way  here.  The 
peace  and  goodness  and  helpfulness  of  the  life 
sink  straight  into  my  heart.  The  Brothers  and 
Sisters  are  so  friendly  and  cheery  with  one  an- 
other ;  there  is  neither  gossip  nor  hard  words ; 
there  is  pleasant  work,  and  your  thoughts 
seem  to  be  all  so  concentrated  upon  right 
living  that  it  is  like  heaven  below,  only  I 
feel  that  the  cross  is  there,  bravely  as  you  all 
bear  it." 

"  There  are  roses  on  my  cross  most  beautiful  to  see, 
As  I  turn  from  all  the  dross  from  which  it  sets  me  free," 

quoted  Eldress  Abby,  devoutly. 

"It  is  easy  enough  for  me,"  continued  Su- 
sanna, "for  it  was  no  cross  for  me  to  give  up  my 
husband  at  the  time ;  but  oh,  if  a  woman  had  a 
considerate,  loving  man  to  live  with,  one  who 
would  strengthen  her  and  help  her  to  be  good, 
one  who  would  protect  and  cherish  her,  one 
who  would  be  an  example  to  his  children  and 


DIVERS  DOCTRINES 

bring  them  up  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord  —  that 
would  be  heaven  below,  too;  and  how  could 
she  bear  to  give  it  all  up  when  it  seems  so  good, 
so  true,  so  right  ?  Might  n't  two  people  walk 
together  to  God  if  both  chose  the  same  path  ?" 

"It's  my  belief  that  one  can  find  the  load 
better  alone  than  when  somebody  else  is  going 
alongside  to  distract  them.  Not  that  the  Lord 
is  going  to  turn  anybody  away,  not  even  when 
they  bring  Him  a  lot  of  burned-out  trash  for  a 
gift,"  said  Eldress  Abby,  bluntly.  "But  don't 
you  believe  He  sees  the  difference  between  a 
person  that  comes  to  Him  when  there  is  no- 
where else  to  turn  —  a  person  that's  tried  all 
and  found  it  wanting  —  and  one  that  gives  up 
freely  pleasure,  and  gain,  and  husband,  and 
home,  to  follow  the  Christ  life?" 

"Yes,  He  must,  He  must,"  Susanna  an- 
swered faintly.  "But  the  children,  Eldress 
Abby !  If  you  had  n't  any,  you  could  perhaps 
keep  yourself  from  wanting  them;  but  if  you 
had,  how  could  you  give  them  up  ?   Jesus  was 


i 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

the  great  Saviour  of  mankind,  but  next  to  Him 
it  seems  as  if  the  children  had  been  the  little 
saviours,  from  the  time  the  first  one  was  born 
until  this  very  day!" 

"Yee,  I've  no  doubt  they  keep  the  worst 
of  the  world's  people,  those  that  are  living  in 
carnal  marriage  without  a  thought  of  godliness, 
—  I've  no  doubt  children  keep  that  sort  from 
going  to  the  lowest  perdition,"  allowed  Eldress 
Abby ;  "  and  those  we  bring  up  in  the  Commu- 
nity make  the  best  converts ;  but  to  a  Shaker, 
the  greater  the  sacrifice,  the  greater  the  glory. 
I  wish  you  was  gathered  in,  Susanna,  for  your 
hands  and  feet  are  quick  to  serve,  your  face  is 
turned  toward  the  truth,  and  your  heart  is  all 
ready  to  receive  the  revelation." 

"I  wish  I  needn't  turn  my  back  on  one 
set  of  duties  to  take  up  another,"  murmured 
Susanna,  timidly. 

"Yee;  no  doubt  you  do.  Your  business  is  to 
find  out  which  are  the  higher  duties,  and  then 
do  those.    Just  make  up  your  mind  whether 


DIVERS  DOCTRINES 

you'd  rather  replenish  earth,  as  you've  been 
doing,  or  replenish  heaven,  as  we're  trying  to 
do.  —  But  I  must  go  to  my  work ;  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning 's  a  poor  time  to  be  discussing 
doctrine!  You're  for  weeding,  Susanna,  I 
suppose?" 

Brother  Ansel  was  seated  at  a  grindstone 
under  the  apple  trees,  teaching  (intermittently) 
a  couple  of  boys  to  grind  a  scythe,  when  Su- 
sanna came  to  her  work  in  the  herb-garden,  Sue 
walking  discreetly  at  her  heels. 

Ansel  was  a  slow-moving,  humorously- 
inclined,  easy-going  Brother,  who  was  drifting 
into  the  kingdom  of  heaven  without  any  special 
effort  on  his  part. 

"I'd  'bout  as  lives  be  a  Shaker  as  anything 
else,"  had  been  his  rather  dubious  statement 
of  faith  when  he  requested  admittance  into 
the  band  of  Believers.  "No  more  crosses, 
accordin'  to  my  notion,  an'  consid'able  more 
chance  o'  crowns ! ' ' 

His  experience  of  life  "  on  the  Adamic  plane," 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

the  holy  estate  of  matrimony,  being  the  chief 
sin  of  this  way  of  thought,  had  disposed  him  to 
regard  woman  as  an  apparently  necessary,  but 
not  especially  desirable,  being.  The  theory  of 
holding  property  in  common  had  no  terrors 
for  him.  He  was  generous,  unambitious,  frugal- 
minded,  somewhat  lacking  in  energy,  and  just 
as  actively  interested  in  his  brother's  welfare 
as  in  his  own,  which  is  perhaps  not  saying 
much.  Shakerism  was  to  him  not  a  craving  of 
the  spirit,  not  a  longing  of  the  soul,  but  a  simple, 
prudent  theory  of  existence,  lessening  the  vari- 
ous risks  that  man  is  exposed  to  in  his  journey 
through  this  vale  of  tears. 

"Women-folks  makes  splendid  Shakers,"  he 
was  wont  to  say.  "They're  all  right  as  Sisters, 
'cause  their  belief  makes  'em  safe.  It  kind  o' 
shears  'em  o'  their  strength ;  tames  their  sper- 
its;  takes  the  sting  out  of  'em  an'  keeps  'em 
from  bein'  sassy  an'  domineerin'.  Jest  as  long 
as  they  think  marriage  is  right,  they  '11  marry 
ye  spite  of  anything  ye  can  do  or  say  —  four  of 


DIVERS   DOCTRINES 

'em  married  my  father  one  after  another, 
though  he  fit  'em  off  as  hard  as  he  knew  how. 
But  if  ye  can  once  get  the  faith  o'  Mother  Ann 
into  'em,  they  're  as  good  afterwards  as  they 
was  wicked  afore.  There 's  no  stoppin'  women- 
folks once  ye  get  'em  started ;  they  don't  keer 
whether  it's  heaven  or  the  other  place,  so  long 
as  they  get  where  they  want  to  go ! " 

Elder  Daniel  Gray  had  heard  Brother  Ansel 
state  his  religious  theories  more  than  once  when 
he  was  first  "gathered  in,"  and  secretly  la- 
mented the  lack  of  spirituality  in  the  new  con- 
vert. The  Elder  was  an  instrument  more  finely 
attuned ;  sober,  humble,  pure-minded,  zealous, 
consecrated  to  the  truth  as  he  saw  it,  he  labored 
in  and  out  of  season  for  the  faith  he  held  so 
dear;  yet  as  the  years  went  on,  he  noted  that 
Ansel,  notwithstanding  his  eccentric  views, 
lived  an  honest,  temperate,  God-fearing  life, 
talking  no  scandal,  dwelling  in  unity  with  his 
brethren  and  sisters,  and  upholding  the  banner 
of  Shakerism  in  his  own  peculiar  way. 


i 


SUSANNA  AND    SUE 

As  Susanna  approached  him,  Ansel  called 
out, '  The  yairbs  are  all  ready  for  ye,  Susanna ; 
the  weeds  have  been  on  the  rampage  sence 
yesterday's  rain.  Seems  like  the  more  use- 
lesser  a  thing  is,  the  more  it  flourishes.  The 
yairbs  grow;  oh,  yes,  they  make  out  to  grow; 
but  you  don't  see  'em  come  leapin'  an'  tearin' 
out  o'  the  airth  like  weeds.  Then  there  's  the 
birds!  I've  jest  been  stoppin'  my  grindin'  to 
look  at  'em  carry  on.  Take  'em  all  in  all, 
there  ain't  nothin'  so  lazy  an'  aimless  an' 
busy'boutnothin'  as  birds.  They  go  kitin' 
'roun'  from  tree  to  tree,  hoppin'  an'  chirpin', 
flyin'  here  an'  there  'thout  no  airthly  objeck 
'ceptin'  to  fly  back  ag'in.  There  's  a  heap  o' 
useless  critters  in  the  univarse,  but  I  guess 
birds  are  'bout  the  uselyest,  'less  it's  grass- 
hoppers, mebbe." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  say  about  the  grass- 
hoppers, Ansel,  but  you  shan'tabuse  the  birds," 
said  Susanna,  stooping  over  the  beds  of  tansy 
and  sage,  thyme  and  summer  savory.  "Weeds 


DIVERS  DOCTRINES 

or  no  weeds,  we're  going  to  have  a  great  crop 
of  herbs  this  year,  Ansel!" 

"Yee,  so  we  be!  We  sowed  more'n  usual 
so's  to  keep  the  two  'jiners'  at  work  long's  we 
could.  —  Take  that  scythe  over  to  the  barn, 
Jacob,  an'  fetch  me  another,  an'  step  spry." 

"What's  a  jiner,  Ansel?" 

"  Winter  Shakers,  I  call  'em.  They're  reg'lar 
constitooshanal  dyed-in-the-wool  jiners,  jinin' 
most  anything  an'  hookin'  on  most  anywheres. 
They  jine  when  it  comes  on  too  cold  to  sleep 
outdoors,  an'  they  onjine  when  it  comes  on 
spring.  Elder  Gray  's  always  hopin'  to  gather 
in  new  souls,  so  he  gives  the  best  of  'em  a  few 
months'  trial.  How  are  ye,  Hannah?"  he 
called  to  a  Sister  passing  through  the  orchard 
to  search  for  any  possible  green  apples  under 
the  trees.  "  Make  us  a  good  old-fashioned 
deep-dish  pandowdy  an'  we'll  all  do  our  best 
to  eat  it!" 

"I  suppose  the  'jiners'  get  discouraged  and 
fear  they  can't  keep  up  to  the  standard.   Not 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

everybody  is  good  enough  to  lead  a  self-denying 
Shaker  life,"  said  Susanna,  pushing  back  the 
close  sunbonnet  from  her  warm  face,  which 
had  grown  younger,  smoother,  and  sweeter  in 
the  last  few  weeks. 

"Nay,  I  s'pose  likely;  'less  they  're  same  as 
me,  a  born  Shaker,"  Ansel  replied.  "I  don't 
hanker  after  strong  drink;  don't  like  tobaccer 
(always  could  keep  my  temper  'thout  smokin'), 
ain't  partic'lar  'bout  meat-eatin',  don't  keer 
'bout  heapin'  up  riches,  can't  'stand  the  ways 
o'  worldly  women-folks,  jest  as  lives  confess  my 
sins  to  the  Elder  as  not,  'cause  I  hain't  sinned 
any  to  amount  to  anything  sence  I  made  my 
first  confession ;  there  I  be,  a  natural  follerer 
o'  Mother  Ann  Lee." 

Susanna  drew  her  Shaker  bonnet  forward 
over  her  eyes  and  turned  her  back  to  Brother 
Ansel  under  the  pretense  of  reaching  over  to 
the  rows  of  sweet  marjoram.  She  had  never 
supposed  it  possible  that  she  could  laugh  again, 
and  indeed  she  seldom  felt  like  it,  but  Ansel's 


S 


DIVERS   DOCTRINES 

interpretations  of  Shaker  doctrine  were  almost 
too  much  for  her  latent  sense  of  humor. 

"What  are  you  smiling  at,  and  me  so  sad, 
Mardie?"  quavered  Sue,  piteously,  from  the 
little  plot  of  easy  weeding  her  mother  had  given 
her  to  do.  "  I  keep  remembering  my  game !  It 
was  such  a  Christian  game,  too.  Lots  nicer 
than  Mother  Ann  in  prison ;  for  Jane  said  her 
mother  and  father  was  both  Believers,  and  no- 
body was  good  enough  to  pour  milk  through 
the  key-hole  but  her.  I  wanted  to  give  the 
clothes-pins  story  names,  like  Hilda  and  Percy, 
but  I  called  them  Adam  and  Eve  and  Cain  and 
Abel  just  because  I  thought  the  Shakers  would 
'specially  like  a  Bible  play.  I  love  Elderess 
Abby,  but  she  does  stop  my  happiness,  Mar- 
die.  That's  the  second  time  to-day,  for  she 
took  Moses  away  from  me  when  I  was  kiss- 
ing him  because  he  pinched  his  thumb  in  the 
window." 

"Why  did  you  do  that,  Sue?"  remonstrated 
her  mother  softly,  remembering  Ansel's  prox- 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

imity.  "You  never  used  to  kiss  strange  little 
boys  at  home  in  Farnham." 

"  Moses  is  n't  a  boy ;  he 's  only  six,  and  that 's 
a  baby;  besides,  I  like  him  better  than  any 
little  boys  at  home,  and  that 's  the  reason  I 
kissed  him ;  there 's  no  harm  in  boy-kissing,  is 
there,  Mardie?" 

"You  don't  know  anybody  here  very  well 
yet;  not  well  enough  to  kiss  them,"  Susanna 
answered,  rather  hopeless  as  to  the  best  way  of 
inculcating  the  undesirability  of  the  Adamic 
plane  of  thought  at  this  early  age.  "While  we 
stay  here,  Sue,  we  ought  both  to  be  very  careful 
to  do  exactly  as  the  Shakers  do." 

By  this  time  mother  and  child  had  reached 
the  orchard  end  of  a  row,  and  Brother  Ansel 
was  thirstily  waiting  to  deliver  a  little  more 
of  the  information  with  which  his  mind  was 
always  teeming. 

"Them  Boston  people  that  come  over  to  our 
public  meetin'  last  Sunday,"  he  began,  "they 
was  dretful  scairt  'bout  what  would  become  o' 


DIVERS    DOCTRINES 

the  human  race  if  it  should  all  turn  Shakers. 
'I  guess  you  need  n't  worry,'  I  says;  'it'll  take 
consid'able  of  a  spell  to  convert  all  you  city 
folks,'  I  says,  'an'  after  all,  what  if  the  world 
should  come  to  an  end  ? '  I  says.  '  If  half  we  hear 
is  true  'bout  the  way  folks  carry  on  in  New 
York  and  Chicago,  it's  'bout  time  it  stopped,' 
I  says,  'an'  I  guess  the  Lord  could  do  a  con- 
sid'able better  job  on  a  second  one,'  I  says, 
'  after  flndin'  out  the  weak  places  in  this.'  They 
can't  stand  givin'  up  their  possessions,  the 
world's  folks ;  that's  the  principal  trouble  with 
'em !  If  you  don't  have  nothin'  to  give  up,  — 
like  some  o'  the  tramps  that  happen  along  here 
and  convince  the  Elder  they're  jest  bustin' 
with  the  fear  o'  God,  —  why,  o'  course  't  ain't 
no  trick  at  all  to  be  a  Believer." 

"Did  you  have  much  to  give  up,  Brother 
Ansel?"  Susanna  asked. 

"  'Bout's  much  as  any  sinner  ever  had  that 
jined  this  Community,"  replied  Ansel,  com- 
placently.   "The  list  o'  what  I  consecrated  to 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

this  Society  when  I  was  gathered  in  was :  One 
horse,  one  wagon,  one  two-year-old  heifer,  one 
axe,  one  saddle,  one  padlock,  one  bed  and  bed- 
ding, four  turkeys,  eleven  hens,  one  pair  o' 
plough-irons,  two  chains,  and  eleven  dollars  in 
cash.  —  Can  you  beat  that?" 

"Oh,  yes,  things!"  said  Susanna,  absent- 
mindedly.  "I  was  thinking  of  family  and 
friends,  pleasures  and  memories  and  ambi- 
tions and  hopes." 

"I  guess  it  don't  pinch  you  any  worse  to 
give  up  a  hope  than  it  would  a  good  two-year- 
old  heifer,"  retorted  Ansel;  "but  there,  you 
can't  never  tell  what  folks  '11  hang  on  to  the 
hardest!  The  man  that  drove  them  Boston 
folks  over  here  last  Sunday,  —  did  you  notice 
him  ?  the  one  that  had  the  sister  with  a  bright 
red  dress  an'  hat  on  ?  —  Land !  I  could  think 
just  how  hell  must  look  whenever  my  eye 
lighted  on  that  girl's  git-up !  —  Well,  I  done 
my  best  to  exhort  that  driver,  bein'  as  how  we 
had  a  good  chance  to  talk  while  we  was  hitchin' 


7 


DIVERS    DOCTRINES 

an'  unhitchin'  the  team;  an'  Elder  Gray  al- 
ways says  I  ain't  earnest  enough  in  preachin' 
the  faith ;  —  but  he  did  n't  learn  anything 
from  the  meetin'.  Kep'  his  eye  on  the  Shaker 
bunnits,  an'  took  notice  o'  the  marchin'  an' 
dancin',  but  he  did  n't  care  nothin'  'bout  doc- 
trine. 

"  * I  draw  the  line  at  bein'  a  cerebrate,'  he 
says.  'I'm  willin'  to  sell  all  my  goods  an' 
divide  with  the  poor,'  he  says,  'but  I  ain't 
goin'  to  be  no  cerebrate.  If  I  don't  have  no 
other  luxuries,  I  will  have  a  wife,'  he  says. 
'I've  hed  three,  an'  if  this  one  don't  last  me 
out,  I'll  get  another,  if  it's  only  to  start  the 
kitchen  fire  in  the  mornin'  an'  put  the  cat  in 
the  shed  nights!  '" 


IV 
LOUISA'S  MIND 


LOUISA,  otherwise  Mrs.  Adlai  Banks,  the 
elder  sister  of  Susanna's  husband,  was 
a  rock-ribbed  widow  of  forty-five  summers, — 
forty-five  winters  would  seem  a  better  phrase 
in  which  to  assert  her  age,  —  who  resided  on  a 
small  farm  twenty  miles  from  the  manufactur- 
ing town  of  Farnham. 

When  the  Fates  were  bestowing  qualities  of 
mind  and  heart  upon  the  Hathaway  babies, 
they  gave  the  more  graceful,  genial,  likable 
ones  to  John,  —  not  realizing,  perhaps,  what 
bad  use  he  would  make  of  them,  —  and  en- 
dowed Louisa  with  great  deposits  of  honesty, 
sincerity,  energy,  piety,  and  frugality,   all  so 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

mysteriously  compounded  that  they  turned  to 
granite  in  her  hands.  If  she  had  been  consulted, 
it  would  have  been  all  the  same.  She  would 
never  have  accepted  John's  charm  of  person- 
ality at  the  expense  of  being  saddled  with  his 
weaknesses,  and  he  would  not  have  taken  her 
cast-iron  virtues  at  any  price  whatsoever. 

She  was  sweeping  her  porch  on  that  day  in 
May  when  Susanna  and  Sue  had  wakened  in 
the  bare  upper  chamber  at  the  Shaker  Settle- 
ment —  Sue  clear-eyed,  jubilant,  expectant, 
unafraid;  Susanna  pale  from  her  fitful  sleep, 
weary  with  the  burden  of  her  heart. 

Looking  down  the  road,  Mrs.  Banks  espied 
the  form  of  her  brother  John  walking  in  her 
direction  and  leading  Jack  by  the  hand. 

This  was  a  most  unusual  sight,  for  John's 
calls  had  been  uncommonly  few  of  late  years, 
since  a  man  rarely  visits  a  lady  relative  for 
the  mere  purpose  of  hearing  "a  piece  of  her 
mind."  This  piece,  large,  solid,  highly  flavored 
with  pepper,  and  as  acid  as  mental  vinegar 


could  make  it,  was  Louisa  Banks's  only  con- 
tribution to  conversation  when  she  met  her 
brother.  She  could  not  stop  for  any  airy  persi- 
flage about  weather,  crops,  or  politics  when 
her  one  desire  was  to  tell  him  what  she  thought 
of  him. 

"  Good-morning,  Louisa.  Shake  hands  with 
your  aunt,  Jack." 

" He  can't  till  I'm  through  sweeping.  Good- 
morning,  John;  what  brings  you  here?" 

John  sat  down  on  the  steps,  and  Jack  flew 
to  the  barn,  where  there  was  generally  an 
amiable  hired  man  and  a  cheerful  cow,  both 
infinitely  better  company  than  his  highly  re- 
spected and  wealthy  aunt. 

"I  came  because  I  had  to  bring  the  boy  to 
the  only  relation  I've  got  in  the  world,"  John 
answered  tersely.    "My  wife's  left  me." 

"Well,  she's  been  a  great  while  doing  it," 
remarked  Louisa,  digging  her  broom  into  the 
cracks  of  the  piazza  floor  and  making  no  pause 
for  reflection.  "  If  she  had  n't  had  the  patience 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

of  Job  and  the  meekness  of  Moses,  she'd  have 
gone  long  before.    Where'd  she  go?" 

"I  don't  know;  she  did  n't  say." 

"Did  you  take  the  trouble  to  look  through 
the  house  for  her?  I  ain't  certain  you  fairly 
know  her  by  sight  nowadays,  do  you?" 

John  flushed  crimson,  but  bit  his  lip  in  an 
attempt  to  keep  his  temper.  "She  left  a  let- 
ter," he  said,  "and  she  took  Sue  with  her." 

"That  was  all  right;  Sue's  a  nervous  little 
thing  and  needs  at  least  one  parent ;  she  has  n't 
been  used  to  more,  so  she  won't  miss  anything. 
Jack's  like  most  of  the  Hathaways;  he'll  grow 
up  his  own  way,  without  anybody's  help  or 
hindrance.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
him?" 

"  Leave  him  with  you,  of  course.  What  else 
could  I  do?" 

"Very  well,  I'll  take  him,  and  while  I'm 
about  it  I'd  like  to  give  you  a  piece  of  my 
mind." 

John  was  fighting  for  self-control,  but  he 


s 


LOUISA'S   MIND 

was  too  wretched  and  remorseful  for  rage  to 
have  any  real  sway  over  him. 

"  Is  it  the  same  old  piece,  or  a  different  one  ?  " 
he  asked,  setting  his  teeth  grimly.  "  I  should  n't 
think  you'd  have  any  mind  left,  you've  given 
so  many  pieces  of  it  to  me  already." 

"I  have  some  left,  and  plenty,  too,"  an- 
swered Louisa,  dashing  into  the  house,  banging 
the  broom  into  a  corner,  coming  out  again  like 
a  breeze,  and  slamming  the  door  behind  her. 
"You  can  leave  the  boy  here  and  welcome; 
I'll  take  good  care  of  him,  and  if  you  don't 
send  me  twenty  dollars  a  month  for  his  food 
and  clothes,  I'll  turn  him  outdoors.  The  more 
responsibility  other  folks  rid  you  of,  the  more 
you'll  let  'em,  and  I  won't  take  a  feather's 
weight  off  you  for  fear  you  '11  sink  into  everlast- 
ing perdition." 

"I  did  n't  expect  any  sympathy  from  you," 
said  John,  drearily,  pulling  himself  up  from  the 
steps  and  leaning  against  the  honeysuckle 
trellis.  "Susanna's  just  the  same.  Women  are 


^ 


devils;  it  does  n't  make  much  difference." 

"I  guess  you  've  found  a  few  soft  ones,  if 
report  says  true,"  returned  Louisa,  bluntly. 
"You'd  better  go  and  get  some  of  their  sym- 
pathy, the  kind  you  can  buy  and  pay  for.  The 
way  you've  ruined  your  life  turns  me  fairly 
sick.  You  had  a  good  father  and  mother,  good 
education  and  advantages,  enough  money  to 
start  you  in  business,  the  best  of  wives,  and 
two  children  any  man  could  be  proud  of,  one  of 
'em  especially.  You've  thrown  'em  all  away, 
and  what  for  ?  Horses  and  cards  and  gay  com- 
pany, late  suppers,  with  wine,  and  for  aught  I 
know,  whiskey,  —  you  the  son  of  a  man  who 
did  n't  know  the  taste  of  ginger  beer!  You've 
spent  your  days  and  nights  with  a  pack  of 
carousing  men  and  women  that  would  take 
your  last  cent  and  not  leave  you  enough  for 
honest  burial." 

"It's  a  pity  we  didn't   make  a  traveling 


LOUISA'S   MIND 

preacher  of  you ! "  exclaimed  John,  bitterly. 
"Lord  Almighty,  I  wonder  how  such  women 
as  you  can  live  in  the  world,  you  know  so  little 
about  it,  and  so  little  about  men." 

"I  know  all  I  want  to  about  'em,"  retorted 
Louisa,  "and  precious  little  that's  good. 
They  're  a  gluttonous,  self-indulgent,  extrava- 
gant, reckless,  pleasure-loving  lot!  My  hus- 
band was  one  of  the  best  of  'em,  and  he 
would  n't  have  amounted  to  a  hill  of  beans  if 
I  had  n't  devoted  fifteen  years  to  disciplining, 
uplifting,  and  strengthening  him!" 

"You  managed  to  strengthen  him  so  that  he 
died  before  he  was  fifty!" 

"It  don't  matter  when  a  man  dies,"  said 
the  remorseless  Mrs.  Banks,  "if  he's  suc- 
ceeded in  living  a  decent,  God-fearing  life.  As 
for  you,  John  Hathaway,  I'll  tell  you  the  truth 
if  you  are  my  brother,  for  Susanna's  too  much 
of  a  saint  to  speak  out." 

"Don't  be  afraid;  Susanna's  spoken  out  at 
last,  plainly  enough  to  please  even  you!" 


suppose 

spunk  enough  to  resent  anything.  I  shall  be 
sorry  to-morrow,  's  likely  as  not,  for  freeing  my 
mind  as  much  as  I  have,  but  my  temper's  up 
and  I'm  going  to  be  the  humble  instrument  of 
Providence  and  try  to  turn  you  from  the  error 
of  your  ways.  You've  defaced  and  degraded 
the  temple  the  Lord  built  for  you,  and  if  He 
should  come  this  minute  and  try  to  turn  out  the 
crowd  of  evil-doers  you  've  kept  in  it,  I  doubt  if 
He  could!" 

"I  hope  He'll  approve  of  the  way  you've 
used  your  *  temple,'"  said  John,  with  stinging 
emphasis.  "I  should  n't  want  to  live  in  such  a 
noisy  one  myself;  I'd  rather  be  a  bat  in  a  bel- 
fry. Good-by;  I've  had  a  pleasant  call,  as 
usual,  and  you've  been  a  real  sister  to  me  in 
my  trouble.  You  shall  have  the  twenty  dollars 
a  month.  Jack's  clothes  are  in  that  valise,  and 
there'll  be  a  trunk  to-morrow.  Susanna  said 
she'd  write  and  let  you  know  her  whereabouts." 

So  saying,  John  Hathaway  strode  down  the 


LOUISA'S  MIND 

path,  closed  the  gate  behind  him,  and  walked 
rapidly  along  the  road  that  led  to  the  station. 
It  was  a  quiet  road  and  he  met  few  persons. 
He  had  neither  dressed  nor  shaved  since  the 
day  before ;  his  face  was  haggard,  his  heart  was 
like  a  lump  of  lead  in  his  breast.  Of  what  use 
to  go  to  the  empty  house  in  Farnham  when  he 
could  stifle  his  misery  by  a  night  with  his 
friends  ? 

No,  he  could  not  do  that,  either!  The  very 
thought  of  them  brought  a  sense  of  satiety  and 
disgust;  the  craving  for  what  they  would  give 
him  would  come  again  in  time,  no  doubt,  but 
for  the  moment  he  was  sick  to  the  very  soul  of 
all  they  stood  for.  The  feeling  of  complete 
helplessness,  of  desertion,  of  being  alone  in 
mid-ocean  without  a  sail  or  a  star  in  sight, 
mounted  and  swept  over  him.  Susanna  had 
been  his  sail,  his  star,  although  he  had  never 
fully  realized  it,  and  he  had  cut  himself  adrift 
from  her  pure,  steadfast  love,  blinding  himself 
with  cheap  and  vulgar  charms. 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

The  next  train  to  Farnham  was  not  due  for 
an  hour.  His  steps  faltered;  he  turned  into  a 
clump  of  trees  by  the  wayside  and  flung  him- 
self on  the  ground  to  cry  like  a  child,  he  who 
had  not  shed  a  tear  since  he  was  a  boy  of  ten. 

If  Susanna  could  have  seen  that  often 
longed-for  burst  of  despair  and  remorse,  that 
sudden  recognition  of  his  sins  against  himself 
and  her,  that  gush  of  penitent  tears,  her  heart 
might  have  softened  once  again;  a  flicker  of 
flame  might  have  lighted  the  ashes  of  her  dying 
love;  she  might  have  taken  his  head  on  her 
shoulder,  and  said,  "Never  mind,  John !  Let's 
forget,  and  begin  all  over  again!" 


Matters  did  not  look  any  brighter  for  John 
the  next  week,  for  his  senior  partner,  Joel 
Atterbury,  requested  him  to  withdraw  from  the 
firm  as  soon  as  matters  could  be  legally  ar- 
ranged. He  was  told  that  he  had  not  been 
doing,  nor  earning,  his  share;  that  his  way  of 
living  during  the  year  just  past  had  not  been 


LOUISA'S   MIND 

any  credit  to  "  the  concern,"  and  that  he,  Atter- 
bury,  sympathized  too  heartily  with  Mrs.  John 
Hathaway  to  take  any  pleasure  in  doing  busi- 
ness with  Mr.  John. 

John's  remnant  of  pride,  completely  hum- 
bled by  this  last  withdrawal  of  confidence, 
would  not  suffer  him  to  tell  Atterbury  that  he 
had  come  to  his  senses  and  bidden  farewell  to 
the  old  life,  or  so  he  hoped  and  believed. 

To  lose  a  wife  and  child  in  a  way  infinitely 
worse  than  death ;  to  hear  the  unwelcome  truth 
that  as  a  husband  you  have  grown  so  offensive 
as  to  be  beyond  endurance ;  to  have  your  own 
sister  tell  you  that  you  richly  deserve  such  treat- 
ment ;  to  be  virtually  dismissed  from  a  valua- 
ble business  connection;  —  all  this  is  enough 
to  sober  any  man  above  the  grade  of  a  moral 
idiot,  and  John  was  not  that;  he  was  simply 
a  self-indulgent,  pleasure-loving,  thoughtless, 
willful  fellow,  without  any  great  amount  of  prin- 
ciple. He  took  his  medicine,  however,  said  no- 
thing, and  did  his  share  of  the  business  from 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

day  to  day  doggedly,  keeping  away  from  his 
partner  as  much  as  possible. 

Ellen,  the  faithful  maid  of  all  work,  stayed 
on  with  him  at  the  old  home ;  Jack  wrote  to  him 
every  week,  and  often  came  to  spend  Sunday 
with  him. 

"  Aunt  Louisa's  real  good  to  me,"  he  told  his 
father,  "but  she's  not  like  mother.  Seems  to 
me  mother's  kind  of  selfish  staying  away  from 
us  so  long.   When  do  you  expect  her  back?" 

"I  don't  know;  not  before  winter,  I'm 
afraid;  and  don't  call  her  selfish,  I  won't 
have  it!  Your  mother  never  knew  she  had 
a  self." 

"If  she'd  only  left  Sue  behind,  we  could  have 
had  more  good  times,  we  three  together!" 

"No,  our  family  is  four,  Jack,  and  we  can 
never  have  any  good  times,  one,  two,  or  three  of 
us,  because  we  're  four !  When  one  's  away, 
whichever  it  is,  it's  wrong,  but  it's  the  worst 
when  it's  mother.  Does  your  Aunt  Louisa 
write  to  her?" 


LOUISA'S  MIND 

"Yes,  sometimes,  but  she  never  lets  me  post 
the  letters." 

"  Do  you  write  to  your  mother  ?  You  ought 
to,  you  know,  even  if  you  don't  have  time  for 
me.  You  could  ask  your  aunt  to  enclose  your 
letters  in  hers." 

"Do you  write  to  her,  father?" 

"Yes,  I  write  twice  a  week,"  John  answered, 
thinking  drearily  of  the  semi-weekly  notes 
posted  in  Susanna's  empty  work-table  upstairs. 
Would  she  ever  read  them?  He  doubted  it, 
unless  he  died,  and  she  came  back  to  settle  his 
affairs ;  but  of  course  he  should  n't  die,  —  no 
such  good  luck.  Would  a  man  die  who  break- 
fasted at  eight,  dined  at  one,  supped  at  six,  and 
went  to  bed  at  ten?  Would  a  man  die  who 
worked  in  the  garden  an  hour  every  after- 
noon, with  half  a  day  Saturday;  that  being 
the  task  most  disagreeable  to  him  and  most 
appropriate  therefore  for  penance  ? 

Susanna  loved  flowers  and  had  always 
wanted  a  garden,  but  John  had  been  too  much 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

occupied  with  his  own  concerns  to  give  her  the 
needed  help  or  money  so  that  she  could  carry 
out  her  plans.  The  last  year  she  had  lost  heart 
in  many  ways,  so  that  little  or  nothing  had  been 
accomplished  of  all  she  had  dreamed.  It  would 
have  been  laughable,  had  it  not  been  pathetic, 
to  see  John  Hathaway  dig,  delve,  grub,  sow, 
water,  weed,  transplant,  generally  at  the  wrong 
moment,  in  that  dream-garden  of  Susanna's. 
He  asked  no  advice  and  read  no  books.  With 
feverish  intensity,  with  complete  ignorance  of 
Nature's  laws  and  small  sympathy  with  their 
intricacies,  he  dug,  hoed,  raked,  fertilized,  and 
planted  during  that  lonely  summer.  His  ab- 
sent-mindedness caused  some  expensive  fail- 
ures, as  when  the  wide  expanse  of  Susanna's 
drying  ground,  which  was  to  be  velvety  lawn, 
"came  up"  curly  lettuce;  but  he  rooted  out 
his  frequent  mistakes  and  patiently  planted 
seeds  or  roots  or  bulbs  over  and  over  and  over 
and  over,  until  something  sprouted  in  his  beds, 
whether  it  was  what  he  intended  or  not.  While 


LOUISA'S  MIND 

he  weeded  the  brilliant  orange  nasturtiums, 
growing  beside  the  magenta  portulacca  in  a 
friendly  proximity  that  certainly  would  never 
have  existed  had  the  mistress  of  the  house  been 
the  head-gardener,  he  thought  of  nothing  but 
his  wife.  He  knew  her  pride,  her  reserve,  her 
sensitive  spirit ;  he  knew  her  love  of  truth  and 
honor  and  purity,  the  standards  of  life  and 
conduct  she  had  tried  to  hold  him  to  so  val- 
iantly, and  which  he  had  so  dragged  in  the  dust 
during  the  blindness  and  the  insanity  of  the 
last  two  years. 

He,  John  Hathaway,  was  a  deserted  hus- 
band; Susanna  had  crept  away  all  wounded 
and  resentful.  Where  was  she  living  and 
how  supporting  herself  and  Sue,  when  she 
could  not  have  had  a  hundred  dollars  in  the 
world?  Probably  Louisa  was  the  source  of 
income;  conscientious,  infernally  disagreeable 
Louisa ! 

Would  not  the  rumor  of  his  changed  habit  of 
life  reach  her  by  some  means  in  her  place  of 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

hiding,  sooner  or  later  ?  Would  she  not  yearn 
for  a  sight  of  Jack  ?  Would  she  not  finally  give 
him  a  chance  to  ask  forgiveness,  or  had  she 
lost  every  trace  of  affection  for  him,  as  her 
letter  seemed  to  imply  ?  He  walked  the  garden 
paths,  with  these  and  other  unanswerable 
questions,  and  when  he  went  to  his  lonely 
room  at  night,  he  held  the  lamp  up  to  a  bit 
of  poetry  that  he  had  cut  from  a  magazine  and 
pinned  to  the  looking-glass.  If  John  Hathaway 
could  be  brought  to  the  reading  of  poetry,  he 
might  even  glance  at  the  Bible  in  course  of 
time,  Louisa  would  have  said.  It  was  in  May 
that  Susanna  had  gone,  and  the  first  line  of 
verse  held  his  attention. 

"May  comes,  day  comes, 
One  who  was  away  comes; 
All  the  earth  is  glad  again, 
Kind  and  fair  to  me. 


'May  comes,  day  comes, 
One  who  was  away  comes; 
Set  her  place  at  hearth  and  board 
As  it  used  to  be. 


"May  comes,  day  comes, 
One  who  was  away  comes; 
Higher  are  the  hills  of  home, 
Bluer  is  the  sea." 

The  Hathaway  house  was  in  the  suburbs, 
on  a  rise  of  ground,  and  as  John  turned  to  the 
window  he  saw  the  full  moon  hanging  yellow 
in  the  sky.  It  shone  on  the  verdant  slopes  and 
low  wooded  hills  that  surrounded  the  town, 
and  cast  a  glittering  pathway  on  the  ocean  that 
bathed  the  beaches  of  the  near-by  shore. 

"How  long  shall  I  have  to  wait,"  he  won- 
dered, "before  my  hills  of  home  look  higher, 
and  my  sea  bluer,  because  Susanna  has  come 
back  to  'hearth  and  board'!" 


SUSANNA  had  helped  at  various  house- 
hold tasks  ever  since  her  arrival  at  the 
Settlement,  for  there  was  no  room  for  drones 
in  the  Shaker  hive ;  but  after  a  few  weeks  in 
the  kitchen  with  Martha,  the  herb-garden  had 
been  assigned  to  her  as  her  particular  province, 
the  Sisters  thinking  her  better  fitted  for  it  than 
for  the  preserving  and  pickling  of  fruit,  or  the 
basket- weaving  that  needed  special  apprentice- 
ship. 

The  Shakers  were  the  first  people  to  raise, 
put  up,  and  sell  garden  seeds  in  our  present- 
day  fashion,  and  it  was  they,  too,  who  began 
the  preparation  of  botanical  medicines,  rais- 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

inrr        (ratnorinn'       rfruitinr       onn 


( 


ing,  gathering,  drying,  and  preparing  herbs 
and  roots  for  market;  and  this  industry, 
driven  from  the  field  by  modern  machinery, 
was  still  a  valuable  source  of  income  in 
Susanna's  day.  Plants  had  always  grown  for 
Susanna,  and  she  loved  them  like  friends, 
humoring  their  weakness,  nourishing  their 
strength,  stimulating,  coaxing,  disciplining 
them,  until  they  could  do  no  less  than  flourish 
under  her  kind  and  hopeful  hand. 

Oh,  that  sweet,  honest,  comforting  little 
garden  of  herbs,  with  its  wholesome  fra- 
grances !  Healing  lay  in  every  root  and  stem, 
in  every  leaf  and  bud,  and  the  strong  aro- 
matic odors  stimulated  her  flagging  spirit  or 
her  aching  head,  after  the  sleepless  nights  in 
which  she  tried  to  decide  her  future  life  and 
Sue's. 

The  plants  were  set  out  in  neat  rows  and 
clumps,  and  she  soon  learned  to  know  the 
strange  ones  —  chamomile,  lobelia,  bloodroot, 
wormwood,  lovage,  boneset,  lemon  and  sweet 


THE   LITTLE   QUAIL   BIRD 

balm,  lavender  and  rue,  as  well  as  she  knew 
the  old  acquaintances  familiar  to  every  coun- 
try-bred child  —  pennyroyal,  peppermint  or 
spearmint,  yellow  dock,  and  thoroughwort. 

There  was  hoeing  and  weeding  before  the 
gathering  and  drying  came ;  then  Brother  Cal- 
vin, who  had  charge  of  the  great  press,  would 
moisten  the  dried  herbs  and  press  them  into 
quarter  and  half-pound  cakes  ready  for  Sister 
Martha,  who  would  superintend  the  younger 
Shakeresses  in  papering  and  labeling  them  for 
the  market.  Last  of  all,  when  harvesting  was 
over,  Brother  Ansel  would  mount  the  newly 
painted  seed-cart  and  leave  on  his  driving  trip 
through  the  country.  Ansel  was  a  capital  sales- 
man, but  Brother  Issachar,  who  once  took  his 
place  and  sold  almost  nothing,  brought  home 
a  lad  on  the  seed-cart,  who  afterward  became 
a  shining  light  in  the  community.  ("Thus," 
said  Elder  Gray,  "does  God  teach  us  the 
diversity  of  gifts,  whereby  all  may  be  un- 
ashamed.") 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

If  the  Albion  Shakers  were  honest  and 
ardent  in  faith,  Susanna  thought  that  their 
"works"  would  indeed  bear  the  strictest  ex- 
amination. The  Brothers  made  brooms,  floor 
and  dish  mops,  tubs,  pails,  and  churns,  and 
indeed  almost  every  trade  was  represented 
in  the  various  New  England  Communities. 
Physicians  there  were,  a  few,  but  no  lawyers, 
sheriffs,  policemen,  constables,  or  soldiers,  just 
as  there  were  no  courts  or  saloons  or  jails. 
Where  there  was  perfect  equality  of  possession 
and  no  private  source  of  gain,  it  amazed  Su- 
sanna to  see  the  cheery  labor,  often  continued 
late  at  night  from  the  sheer  joy  of  it,  and  the 
earnest  desire  to  make  the  Settlement  pros- 
perous. While  the  Brothers  were  hammering, 
nailing,  planing,  sawing,  ploughing,  and  seed- 
ing, the  Sisters  were  carding  and  spinning 
cotton,  wool,  and  flax,  making  kerchiefs  of 
linen,  straw  Shaker  bonnets,  and  dozens  of 
other  useful  marketable  things,  not  forgetting 
their  famous  Shaker  apple  sauce. 


THE   LITTLE   QUAIL  BIRD 

Was  there  ever  such  a  busy  summer,  Susanna 
wondered ;  yet  with  all  the  early  rising,  constant 
labor,  and  simple  fare,  she  was  stronger  and 
hardier  than  she  had  been  for  years.  The 
Shaker  palate  was  never  tickled  with  delicacies, 
yet  the  food  was  well  cooked  and  sufficiently 
varied.  At  first  there  had  been  the  winter 
vegetables :  squash,  yellow  turnips,  beets,  and 
parsnips,  with  once  a  week  a  special  Shaker 
dinner  of  salt  codfish,  potatoes,  onions,  and 
milk  gravy.  Each  Sister  served  her  turn  as 
cook,  but  all  alike  had  a  wonderful  hand  with 
flour,  and  the  whole-wheat  bread,  cookies, 
ginger  cake,  and  milk  puddings  were  marvels 
of  lightness.  Martha,  in  particular,  could  wean 
the  novitiate  Shaker  from  a  too  riotous  de- 
votion to  meat-eating  better  than  most  peo- 
ple, for  every  dish  she  sent  to  the  table  was 
delicate,  savory,  and  attractive. 

Dear,  patient,  devoted  Martha!  How  Su- 
sanna learned  to  love  her  as  they  worked  to- 
gether in  the  big  sunny,  shining  kitchen,  where 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

the  cooking-stove  as  well  as  every  tin  plate  and 
pan  and  spoon  might  have  served  as  a  mirror ! 
Martha  had  joined  the  Society  in  her  mother's 
arms,  being  given  up  to  the  Lord  and  placed 
in  "the  children's  order"  before  she  was  one 
year  old. 

"If  you  should  unite  with  us,  Susanna,"  she 
said  one  night  after  the  early  supper,  when 
they  were  peeling  apples  together,  "you'd  be 
thankful  you  begun  early  with  your  little  Sue, 
for  she's  got  a  natural  attraction  to  the  world, 
and  for  it.  Not  but  that  she's  a  tender,  loving, 
obedient  little  soul ;  but  when  she's  among  the 
other  young  ones,  there's  a  flyaway  look  about 
her  that  makes  her  seem  more  like  a  fairy  than 
a  child." 

"She's  having  rather  a  hard  time  learning 
Shaker  ways,  but  she'll  do  better  in  time," 
sighed  her  mother.  "She  came  to  me  of  her 
own  accord  yesterday  and  asked :  '  Bettent  I 
have  my  curls  cut  off,  Mardie  ?  '  " 

"I   never   put   that   idea   into   her   head," 


THE   LITTLE   QUAIL   BIRD 

Martha  interrupted.  "She's  a  visitor  and  can 
wear  her  hair  as  she's  been  brought  up  to 
wear  it." 

"I  know,  but  I  fear  Sue  was  moved  by  other 
than  religious  reasons.  'I  get  up  so  early, 
Mardie,'  she  said,  —  'and  it  takes  so  long  to 
unsnarl  and  untangle  me,  and  I  get  so  hot  when 
I'm  helping  in  the  hayfield,  —  and  then  I  have 
to  be  curled  for  dinner,  and  curled  again  for 
supper,  and  so  it  seems  like  wasting  both  our 
times  ! '  Her  hair  would  be  all  the  stronger 
for  cutting,  I  thought,  as  it's  so  long  for  her 
age ;  but  I  could  n't  put  the  shears  to  it  when 
the  time  came,  Martha.  I  had  to  take  her  to 
Eldress  Abby.  She  sat  up  in  front  of  the  little 
looking-glass  as  still  as  a  mouse,  while  the  curls 
came  off,  but  when  the  last  one  fell  into  Abby's 
apron,  she  suddenly  put  her  hands  over  her 
face  and  cried :  '  Oh,  Mardie,  we  shall  never  be 
the  same  togedder,  you  and  I,  after  this ! '  —  She 
seemed  to  see  her 'little  past,'  her  childhood, 
slipping  away  from  her,  all  in  an  instant.    I 


"You  did  wrong,"  rebuked  Martha.  "You 
should  n't  make  an  idol  of  your  child  or  your 
child's  beauty." 

"You  don't  think  God  might  put  beauty 
into  the  world  just  to  give  His  children  joy, 
Martha?" 

Martha  was  no  controversialist.  She  had 
taken  her  opinions,  ready-made,  from  those 
she  considered  her  superiors,  and  although 
she  was  willing  to  make  any  sacrifice  for 
her  religion,  she  did  not  wish  to  be  confused 
by  too  many  opposing  theories  of  God's  in- 
tentions. 

"You  know  I  never  argue  when  I've  got 
anything  baking,"  she  said;  and  taking  the 
spill  of  a  corn-broom  from  a  table-drawer,  she 
opened  the  oven  door  and  delicately  plunged  it 
into  the  loaf.  Then,  gazing  at  the  straw  as  she 
withdrew  it,  she  said :  "You  must  talk  doctrine 
with   Eldress    Abby,  Susanna,  not  with  me; 


THE   LITTLE  QUAIL  BIRD 

but  I  guess  doctrine  won't  help  you  so  much 
as  thinking  out  your  life  for  yourself." 

"No  one  can  sing  my  psalm  for  me, 
Reward  must  come  from  labor, 
I'll  sow  for  peace,  and  reap  in  truth 
God's  mercy  and  His  favor  !" 

Martha  was  the  chief  musician  of  the  Com- 
munity, and  had  composed  many  hymns  and 
tunes  —  some  of  them  under  circumstances 
that  she  believed  might  entitle  them  to  be  con- 
sidered directly  inspired.  Her  clear  full  voice 
filled  the  kitchen  and  floated  out  into  the  air 
after  Susanna,  as  she  called  Sue  and,  darning- 
basket  in  hand,  walked  across  the  road  to  the 
great  barn. 

The  herb-garden  was  one  place  where  she 
could  think  out  her  life,  although  no  decision  had 
as  yet  been  born  of  those  thoughtful  mornings. 

Another  spot  for  meditation  was  the  great 
barn,  relic  of  the  wonderful  earlier  days,  and 
pride  of  the  present  Settlement.  A  hundred 
and  seventy-five  feet  long  and  three  and  a  half 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

stories  high,  it  dominated  the  landscape.  First, 
there  was  the  cellar,  where  all  the  refuse  fell, 
to  do  its  duty  later  on  in  fertilizing  the  farm 
lands ;  then  came  the  first  floor,  where  the  stalls 
for  horses,  oxen,  and  cows  lined  the  walls  on 
either  side.  Then  came  the  second  floor,  where 
hay  was  kept,  and  to  reach  this  a  bridge  forty 
feet  long  was  built  on  stone  piers  ten  feet  in 
height,  sloping  up  from  the  ground  to  the 
second  story.  Over  the  easy  slope  of  this  bridge 
the  full  haycarts  were  driven,  to  add  their 
several  burdens  to  the  golden  haymows.  High 
at  the  top  was  an  enormous  grain  room,  where 
mounds  of  yellow  corn-ears  reached  from  floor 
to  ceiling ;  and  at  the  back  was  a  great  window 
opening  on  Massabesic  Pond  and  Knights' 
Hill,  with  the  White  Mountains  towering  blue 
or  snow-capped  in  the  distance.  There  was  an 
old-fashioned,  list-bottomed,  straight-backed 
Shaker  chair  in  front  of  the  open  window,  a 
chair  as  uncomfortable  as  Shaker  doctrines  to 
the  daughter  of  Eve,  and  there  Susanna  often 


THE   LITTLE   QUAIL   BIRD 

sat  with  her  sewing  or  mending,  Sue  at  her  feet 
building  castles  out  of  corn-cobs,  plaiting  the 
husks  into  little  mats,  or  taking  out  basting 
threads  from  her  mother's  work. 

"My  head  feels  awfully  undressed  without 
my  curls,  Mardie,"  she  said.  "I'm  most  afraid 
Fardie  won't  like  the  looks  of  me ;  do  you  think 
we  ought  to  have  asked  him  before  we  shingled 
me?  —  He  does  despise  un-pretty  things  so!" 

"I  think  if  we  had  asked  him  he  would  have 
said,  'Do  as  you  think  best.'  " 

"  He  always  says  that  when  he  does  n't  care 
what  you  do,"  observed  Sue,  with  one  of  her 
startling  bursts  of  intuition.  "Sister  Martha 
has  a  printed  card  on  the  wall  in  the  chil- 
dren's dining-room,  and  I've  got  to  learn  all 
the  poetry  on  it  because  I  need  it  worse  than 
any  of  the  others  :  — 


"What  we  deem  good  order,  we're  willing  to  state, 
Eat  hearty  and  decent,  and  clear  out  your  plate; 
Be  thankful  to  heaven  for  what  we  receive, 

And  not  make  a  mixture  or  compound  to  leave. 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

"We  often  find  left  on  the  same  China  dish, 

Meat,  apple  sauce,  pickle,  brown  bread  and  minced  fish  : 
Another  's  replenished  with  butter  and  cheese. 

With  pie,  cake,  and  toast,  perhaps,  added  to  these." 

"You  say  it  very  nicely,"  commended 
Susanna. 

"  There 's  more :  — 

"Now  if  any  virtue  in  this  can  be  shown, 

By  peasant,  by  lawyer,  or  king  on  the  throne; 
We  freely  will  forfeit  whatever  we've  said, 

And  call  it  a  virtue  to  waste  meat  and  bread." 

"There's  a  great  deal  to  learn  when  you're 
being  a  Shaker,"  sighed  Sue,  as  she  finished  her 
rhyme. 

"There's  a  great  deal  to  learn  everywhere," 
her  mother  answered.  "What  verse  did  El- 
dress  Abby  give  you  to-day?" 

"  For  little  tripping  maids  may  follow  God 
Along  the  ways  that  saintly  feet  have  trod," 

quoted  the  child.    "Am  I  a   tripping  maid, 
Mardie?"  she  continued. 
"Yes,  dear." 


THE   LITTLE   QUAIL  BIRD 

"If  I  trip  too  much,  mightn't  I  fall?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"Is  tripping  the  same  as  skipping?" 

"About  the  same." 

"Is  it  polite  to  tripanskip  when  you're  fol- 
lowing God?" 

"It  could  n't  be  impolite  if  you  meant  to  be 
good.  A  tripping  maid  means  just  a  young  one." 

"What  is  a  maid?" 

"A  little  girl." 

"When  a  maid  grows  up,  what  is  she?" 

"Why  —  she's  a  maiden,  I  suppose." 

"When  a  maiden  grows  up,  what  is  she?" 

"Just  a  woman,  Sue." 

"What  is  saintly  feet?" 

"Feet  like  those  of  Eldress  Abby  or  Elder 
Gray ;  feet  of  people  who  have  always  tried  to 
do  right." 

"Are  Brother  Ansel's  feet  saintly?" 

"He's  a  good,  kind,  hard-working  man." 

"Is  good  -  kind  -  hard  -  working  same  as 
saintly?" 


SUSANN 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 
"Well,  it's  not  so  very  different,  perhaps. 


Now,  Sue,  I've  asked  you  before,  don't  let  your 
mind  grope,  and  your  little  tongue  wag,  every 
instant ;  it  is  n't  good  for  you,  and  it  certainly 
is  n't  good  for  me!" 

"All  right;  but  'less  I  gropeanwag  some- 
times, I  don't  see  how  I'll  ever  learn  the  things 
I  'specially  want  to  know?"  sighed  Sue  the 
insatiable. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  a  Shaker  story,  one  that 
Eldress  Abby  told  me  last  evening?" 

"Oh,  do,  Mardie!"  cried  Sue,  crossing  her 
feet,  folding  her  hands,  and  looking  up  into  her 
mother's  face  expectantly. 

"Once  there  was  a  very  good  Shaker  named 
Elder  Calvin  Green,  and  some  one  wrote  him  a 
letter  asking  him  to  come  a  long  distance  and 
found  a  Settlement  in  the  western  part  of  New 
York  State.  He  and  some  other  Elders  and 
Eldresses  traveled  five  days,  and  stopped  at 
the  house  of  a  certain  Joseph  Pelham  to  spend 
Sunday  and   hold   a   meeting.     On    Monday 


THE   LITTLE    QUAIL   BIRD 

morning,  very  tired,  and  wondering  where  to 
stay  and  begin  his  preaching,  the  Elder  went 
out  into  the  woods  to  pray  for  guidance.  When 
he  rose  from  his  knees,  feeling  stronger  and 
lighter-hearted,  a  young  quail  came  up  to  him 
so  close  that  he  picked  it  up.  It  was  not  a  bit 
afraid,  neither  did  the  old  parent  birds  who 
were  standing  near  by  show  any  sign  of  fear, 
though  they  are  very  timid  creatures.  The 
Elder  smoothed  the  young  bird's  feathers  a 
little  while  and  then  let  it  go,  but  he  thought 
an  angel  seemed  to  say  to  him,  '  The  quail  is 
a  sign;  you  will  know  before  night  what  it 
means,  and  before  to-morrow  people  will  be 
coming  to  you  to  learn  the  way  to  God.' 

"Soon  after,  a  flock  of  these  shy  little  birds 
alighted  on  Joseph  Pelham's  house,  and  the 
Elders  were  glad,  and  thought  it  signified  the 
flock  of  Believers  that  would  gather  in  that 
place;  for  the  Shakers  see  more  in  signs  than 
other  people.  Just  at  night  a  young  girl  of 
twelve  or  thirteen  knocked  at  the  door  and  told 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

Elder  Calvin  that  she  wanted  to  become  a 
Shaker,  and  that  her  father  and  mother  were 
willing. 

"'Here  is  the  little  quail!'  cried  the  Elder, 
and  indeed  she  was  the  first  who  flocked  to  the 
meetings  and  joined  the  new  Community. 

"On  their  return  to  their  old  home  across 
the  state  the  Elders  took  the  little  quail  girl 
with  them.  It  was  November  then,  and  the 
canals  through  which  they  traveled  were 
clogged  with  ice.  One  night,  having  been  fer- 
ried across  the  Mohawk  River,  they  took  their 
baggage  and  walked  for  miles  before  they 
could  find  shelter.  Finally,  when  they  were 
within  three  miles  of  their  home,  Elder  Calvin 
shortened  the  way  by  going  across  the  open 
fields  through  the  snow,  up  and  down  the  hills 
and  through  the  gullies  and  over  fences,  till 
they  reached  the  house  at  midnight,  safe  and 
sound,  the  brave  little  quail  girl  having  trudged 
beside  them  the  whole  distance,  carrying  her 
tin  pail." 


THE   LITTLE   QUAIL   BIRD 

Sue  was  transported  with  interest,  her  lips 
parted,  her  eyes  shining,  her  hands  clasped. 

"Oh,  I  wish  I  could  be  a  brave  little  quail 
girl,  Mardie!  What  became  of  her?" 

"Her  name  was  Polly  Reed,  and  when  she 
grew  up,  she  became  a  teacher  of  the  Shaker 
school,  then  an  Eldress,  and  even  a  preacher. 
I  don't  know  what  kind  of  a  little  quail  girl  you 
would  make,  Sue ;  do  you  think  you  could  walk 
for  miles  through  the  ice  and  snow  uncom- 
plainingly ?" 

"I  don'  know's  I  could,"  sighed  Sue;  "but," 
she  added  hopefully,  "perhaps  I  could  teach 
or  preach,  and  then  I  could  gropeanwag  as 
much  as  ever  I  liked."  Then,  after  a  lengthy 
pause,  in  which  her  mind  worked  feverishly, 
she  said,  "Mardie,  I  was  just  groping  a  little 
bit,  but  I  won't  do  it  any  more  to-night.  If  the 
old  quail  birds  in  the  woods  where  Elder  Cal- 
vin prayed,  if  those  old  birds  had  been  Shaker 
birds,  there  would  n't  have  been  any  little 
quail    birds,    would    there,    because    Shakers 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

don't  have  children,  and  then  perhaps  there 
would  n't  have  been  any  little  Polly  Reed." 

Susanna  rose  hurriedly  from  the  list-bot- 
tomed chair  and  folded  her  work.  "I'll  go  up 
and  help  you  undress  now,"  she  said;  "it's 
seven  o'clock,  and  I  must  go  to  the  family 
meeting." 


VI 

SUSANNA    SPEAKS  IN    MEETING 

hi 


VI 

IT  was  the  Sabbath  day  and  the  Believers 
were  gathered  in  the  meeting-house,  Breth- 
ren and  Sisters  seated  quietly  on  their  separate 
benches,  with  the  children  by  themselves  in 
their  own  place.  As  the  men  entered  the  room 
they  removed  their  hats  and  coats  and  hung 
them  upon  wooden  pegs  that  lined  the  sides 
of  the  room,  while  the  women  took  off  their 
bonnets;  then,  after  standing  for  a  moment 
of  perfect  silence,  they  seated  themselves. 

In  Susanna's  time  the  Sunday  costume  for 
the  men  included  trousers  of  deep  blue  cloth 
with  a  white  line  and  a  vest  of  darker  blue, 
exposing  a  full-bosomed  shirt  that  had  a  wide 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

turned-down  collar  fastened  with  three  but- 
tons. The  Sisters  were  in  pure  white  dresses, 
with  neck  and  shoulders  covered  with  snowy 
kerchiefs,  their  heads  crowned  with  their  white 
net  caps,  and  a  large  white  pocket  handker- 
chief hung  over  the  left  arm.  Their  feet  were 
shod  with  curious  pointed-toed  cloth  shoes  of 
ultramarine  blue  —  a  fashion  long  since  gone 
by. 

Susanna  had  now  become  accustomed  to 
the  curious  solemn  march  or  dance  in  which 
of  course  none  but  the  Believers  ever  joined, 
and  found  in  her  present  exalted  mood  the 
songs  and  the  exhortations  strangely  interest- 
ing and  not  unprofitable. 

Tabitha,  the  most  aged  of  the  group  of  Al- 
bion Sisters,  confessed  that  she  missed  the  old 
times  when  visions  were  common,  when  the 
Spirit  manifested  itself  in  extraordinary  ways, 
and  the  gift  of  tongues  descended.  Sometimes, 
in  the  Western  Settlement  where  she  was  gath- 
ered in,  the  whole  North  Family  would  march 


SUSANNA    SPEAKS    IN    MEETING 

into  the  highway  in  the  fresh  morning  hours, 
and  while  singing  some  sacred  hymn,  would 
pass  on  to  the  Centre  Family,  and  together 
in  solemn  yet  glad  procession  they  would  mount 
the  hillside  to  "Jehovah's  Chosen  Square," 
there  to  sing  and  dance  before  the  Lord. 

"I  wish  we  could  do  something  like  that 
now!"  sighed  Hetty  Arnold,  a  pretty  young 
creature,  who  had  moments  of  longing  for  the 
pomps  and  vanities.  "If  we  have  to  give  up 
all  worldly  pleasures,  I  think  we  might  have 
more  religious  ones  !  " 

"We  were  a  younger  church  in  those  old 
times  of  which  Sister  Tabitha  speaks,"  said 
Eldress  Abby.  "You  must  remember,  Hetty, 
that  we  were  children  in  faith,  and  needed  signs 
and  manifestations,  pictures  and  object-les- 
sons. We've  been  trained  to  think  and  reason 
now,  and  we've  put  away  some  of  our  picture- 
books.  There  have  been  revelations  to  tell  us 
we  needed  movements  and  exercises  to  quicken 
our  spiritual  powers,  and  to  give  energy  and 


? 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

unity  to  our  worship,  and  there  have  been  reve- 
lations telling  us  to  give  them  up;  revelations 
bidding  us  to  sing  more,  revelations  telling  us 
to  use  wordless  songs.  Then  anthems  were 
given  us,  and  so  it  has  gone  on,  for  we  have 
been  led  of  the  Spirit." 

"I'd  like  more  picture-books,"  pouted  Hetty, 
under  her  breath. 

To-day  the  service  began  with  a  solemn 
song,  followed  by  speaking  and  prayer  from  a 
visiting  elder.  Then,  after  a  long  and  pro- 
found silence,  the  company  rose  and  joined  in 
a  rhythmic  dance  which  signified  the  onward 
travel  of  the  soul  to  full  redemption ;  the  open- 
ing and  closing  of  the  hands  meaning  the  scat- 
tering and  gathering  of  blessing.  There  was  no 
accompaniment,  and  both  the  music  and  the 
words  were  the  artless  expression  of  fervent 
devotion.  ^ 

Susanna  sat  in  her  corner  beside  the  aged 
Tabitha,  who  would  never  dance  again  before 
the  Lord,  though  her  quavering  voice  joined 


SUSANNA    SPEAKS    IN    MEETING 

in  the  chorus.  The  spring  floor  rose  and  fell 
under  the  quick  rhythmic  tread  of  the  worship- 
ers, and  with  each  revolution  about  the  room 
the  song  gained  in  power  and  fervor. 


sag 


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I       am     nev   -   er    wea  -  ry  briDg  -  ing      my 


^^^ 


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life      un  -  to    God,      I     am     nev  -  er    wea  -  ry 


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£3 


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sing-ing    His    way     is    good.  With  the  voice  of     an 


fczzfr 


with  pow  -  er    from     a  -  bove,     I    would 


IA 


i 


S5 


I 


pub  -  lish  the  bless-ing     of       soul  -  sav  -  ing  love. 

The  steps  grew  slower  and  more  sedate,  the 
voices  died  away,  the  arms  sank  slowly  by 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

the  sides,  and  the  hands  ceased  their  move- 
ment. 

Susanna  rose  to  her  feet,  she  knew  not  how 
or  why.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  her  head 
bent. 

"Dear  friends,"  she  said,  "I  have  now  been 
among  you  for  nearly  three  months,  sharing 
your  life,  your  work,  and  your  worship.  You 
may  well  wish  to  know  whether  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  join  this  Community,  and  I  can 
only  say  that  although  I  have  prayed  for  light, 
I  cannot  yet  see  my  way  clearly.  I  am  happy 
here  with  you,  and  although  I  have  been  a 
church  member  for  years,  I  have  never  before 
longed  so  ardently  to  present  my  body  and  soul 
as  a  sacrifice  unto  the  Lord.  I  have  tried  not  to 
be  a  burden  to  you.  The  small  weekly  sum 
that  I  put  into  the  treasury  I  will  not  speak  of, 
lest  I  seem  to  think  that  the  'gift  of  God  may 
be  purchased  with  money,'  as  the  Scriptures 
say ;  but  I  have  endeavored  to  be  loyal  to  your 
rules  and  customs,  your  aims  and  ideals,  and  to 


_J$ 


SUSANNA    SPEAKS    IN    MEETING 

the  confidence  you  have  reposed  in  me.  Oh, 
my  dear  Sisters  and  Brothers,  pray  for  me  that 
I  be  enabled  to  see  my  duty  more  plainly.  It  is 
not  the  flesh-pots  that  will  call  me  back  to  the 
world ;  if  I  go,  it  will  be  because  the  duties  I 
have  left  behind  take  such  shape  that  they  draw 
me  out  of  this  shelter  in  spite  of  myself.  I 
thank  you  for  the  help  you  have  given  me  these 
last  weeks ;  God  knows  my  gratitude  can  never 
be  spoken  in  words." 

Elder  Gray's  voice  broke  the  silence  that 
followed  Susanna's  speech.  "I  only  echo  the 
sentiments  of  the  Family  when  I  say  that  our 
Sister  Susanna  shall  have  such  time  as  she  re- 
quires before  deciding  to  unite  with  this  body 
of  Believers.  No  pressure  shall  be  brought  to 
bear  upon  her,  and  she  will  be,  as  she  ever  has 
been,  a  welcome  guest  under  our  roof.  She  has 
been  an  inspiration  to  the  children,  a  comfort 
and  aid  to  the  Sisters,  an  intelligent  comrade 
to  the  Brethren,  and  a  sincere  and  earnest 
student  of   the   truth.    May  the    Spirit  draw 


"Yee  and  amen!"  exclaimed  Eldress  Abby, 
devoutly:  "For  thus  saith  the  Lord  of  hosts: 
I  will  shake  the  heavens,  and  the  earth,  and  the 
sea,  and  the  dry  land ;  and  I  will  shake  all  na- 
tions, and  the  desire  of  all  nations  shall  come: 
and  I  will  fill  this  house  with  glory,  saith  the 
Lord  of  hosts." 

"O  Virgin  Church,  how  great  thy  light, 
What  cloud  can  dim  thy  way?" 

sang  Martha  from  her  place  at  the  end  of  a 
bench;  and  all  the  voices  took  up  the  hymn 
softly  as  the  company  sat  with  bowed  heads. 

Then  Brother  Issachar  rose  from  his  cor- 
ner, saying:  "Jesus  called  upon  his  disciples 
to  give  up  everything :  houses,  lands,  relation- 
ships, and  even  the  selfishness  of  their  own 
lives.  They  could  not  call  their  lives  their 
own.  '  Lo!  we  have  left  all  and  followed  thee/ 
said  Peter;  'fathers,  mothers,  wives,  children, 
houses,  lands,  and  even  our  own  lives  also.' 


"Yee,  we  do,"  said  Brother  Thomas  Scat- 
tergood,  devoutly.  "To  him  that  overcometh 
shall  the  great  prize  be  given." 

"God  help  the  weaker  brethren!"  mur- 
mured young  Brother  Nathan,  in  so  low  a 
voice  that  few  could  hear  him. 

Moved  by  the  same  impulse,  Tabitha,  Abby, 
and  Martha  burst  into  one  of  the  most  tri- 
umphant of  the  Shaker  songs,  one  that  was 
never  sung  save  when  the  meeting  was  "full 
of  the  Spirit"  :  — 

"I  draw  no  blank  nor  miss  the  prize, 
I  see  the  work,  the  sacrifice, 
And  I'll  be  loyal,  I'll  be  wise, 
A  faithful  overcomer!" 

The  company  rose  and  began  again  to 
march  in  a  circle  around  the  centre  of  the  room, 
the  Brethren  two  abreast  leading  the  col- 
umn, the  Sisters  following  after.  There  was  a 
waving  movement  of  the  hands  by  drawing 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

inward  as  if  gathering  in  spiritual  good  and 
storing  it  up  for  future  need.  In  the  march- 
ing and  countermarching  the  worshipers  fre- 
quently changed  their  positions,  ultimately 
forming  into  four  circles,  symbolical  of  the  four 
dispensations  as  expounded  in  Shakerism,  the 
first  from  Adam  to  Abraham ;  the  second  from 
Abraham  to  Jesus;  the  third  from  Jesus  to 
Mother  Ann  Lee ;  and  the  fourth  the  millennial 
era. 

The  marching  grew  livelier;  the  bodies  of 
the  singers  swayed  lightly  with  emotion,  the 
faces  glowed  with  feeling. 

Over  and  over  the  hymn  was  sung,  gathering 
strength  and  fullness  as  the  Believers  entered 
more  and  more  into  the  spirit  of  their  worship. 
Whenever  the  refrain  came  in  with  its  militant 
fervor,  crude,  but  sincere  and  effective,  the 
singers  seemed  faith-intoxicated;  and  Sister 
Martha  in  particular  might  have  been  tread- 
ing the  heavenly  streets  instead  of  the  meet- 
ing-house floor,  so  complete  was  her  absorp- 


SUSANNA    SPEAKS    IN    MEETING 

tion.  The  voices  at  length  grew  softer,  and  the 
movement  slower,  and  after  a  few  moments' 
reverent  silence  the  company  filed  out  of  the 
room  solemnly  and  without  speech. 


s 


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am     as    sure    that  heav'n    is  mine     As 


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v        v        y        V  n 

though     my        vi    -  sion    could      de    -  fine        Or 


s^^a 


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s=g=i=ttg= 


g^^ 


pen    -  cil         draw    the    boun  -  da  -  ry    line  Where 


^ 


■* — 


I 


love        and 


truth 


shall 


: 


quer. 


"The  Lord  ain't  shaken  Susanna  hard 
enough  yet,"  thought  Brother  Ansel  shrewdly 
from  his  place  in  the  rear.  "She  ain't  alto- 
gether gathered  in,  not  by  no  manner  o'  means, 


SUSANNA  AND  SUE 

because  of  that  unregenerate  son  of  Adam 
she's  left  behind;  but  there's  the  makin's  of  a 
pow'ful  good  Shaker  in  Susanna,  if  she  finally 
takes  holt!" 

"What  manner  of  life  is  my  husband  living, 
now  that  I  have  deserted  him  ?  Who  is  being 
a  mother  to  Jack?"  These  were  the  thoughts 
that  troubled  Susanna  Hathaway's  soul  as  she 
crossed  the  grass  to  her  own  building. 


VII 
THE   LOWER  PLANE 


VII 

BROTHER  Nathan  Bennett  was  twenty 
years  old  and  Sister  Hetty  Arnold  was 
eighteen.  They  had  been  left  with  the  Shakers 
by  their  respective  parents  ten  years  before,  and, 
growing  up  in  the  faith,  they  formally  joined 
the  Community  when  they  reached  the  age  of 
discretion.  Thus  they  had  known  each  other 
from  early  childhood,  never  in  the  familiar  way 
common  to  the  children  of  the  world,  but  with 
the  cool,  cheerful,  casual,  wholly  impersonal 
attitude  of  Shaker  friendship,  a  relation  seem- 
ingly outside  of  and  superior  to  sex,  a  relation 
more  like  that  of  two  astral  bodies  than  the  more 
intimate  one  of  a  budding  Adam  and  Eve. 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

When  and  where  had  this  relationship 
changed  its  color  and  meaning?  Neither  Na- 
than nor  Hetty  could  have  told.  For  years 
Nathan  had  sat  at  his  end  of  the  young  men's 
bench  at  the  family  or  the  public  meeting, 
with  Hetty  exactly  opposite  him  at  the  end 
of  the  girls'  row,  and  for  years  they  had  looked 
across  the  dividing  space  at  each  other  with 
unstirred  pulses.  The  rows  of  Sisters  sat  in 
serene  dignity,  one  bench  behind  another, 
and  each  Sister  was  like  unto  every  other 
in  Nathan's  vague,  dreamy,  boyishly  indif- 
ferent eyes.  Some  of  them  were  seventy  and 
some  seventeen,  but  each  modest  figure  sat 
in  its  place  with  quiet  folded  hands.  The  stiff 
caps  hid  the  hair,  whether  it  was  silver  or 
gold ;  the  white  surplices  covered  the  shoulders 
and  concealed  beautiful  curves  as  well  as  angu- 
lar outlines;  the  throats  were  scarcely  visible, 
whether  they  were  yellow  and  wrinkled  or 
young  and  white.  The  Sisters  were  simply 
sisters  to  fair-haired   Nathan,  and   the  Bro- 


THE   LOWER  PLANE 

thers  were  but  brothers  to  little  black-eyed 
Hetty. 

Once  —  was  it  on  a  Sunday  morning  ?  — 
Nathan  glanced  across  the  separating  space 
that  is  the  very  essence  and  sign  of  Shakerism. 
The  dance  had  just  ceased,  and  there  was  a 
long,  solemn  stillness  when  God  indeed  seemed 
to  be  in  one  of  His  holy  temples  and  the  earth 
was  keeping  silence  before  Him.  Suddenly 
Hetty  grew  to  be  something  more  than  one  of 
the  figures  in  a  long  row :  she  chained  Nathan's 
eye  and  held  it. 

"Through  her  garments  the  grace  of  her 
glowed."  He  saw  that,  in  spite  of  the  way  her 
hair  had  been  cut  and  stretched  back  from  the 
forehead,  a  short  dusky  tendril,  softened  and 
coaxed  by  the  summer  heat,  had  made  its  way 
mutinously  beyond  the  confines  of  her  cap. 
Her  eyes  were  cast  down,  but  the  lashes  that 
swept  her  round  young  cheek  were  quite  differ- 
ent from  any  other  lashes  in  the  Sisters'  row. 
Her  breath  came  and  went  softly  after  the 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

exertion  of  the  rhythmic  movements,  stirring 
the  white  muslin  folds  that  wrapped  her  from 
throat  to  waist.  He  looked  and  looked,  until 
his  body  seemed  to  be  all  eyes,  absolutely  un- 
aware of  any  change  in  himself;  quite  obliv- 
ious of  the  fact  that  he  was  regarding  the  girl 
in  any  new  and  dangerous  way. 

The  silence  continued,  long  and  profound, 
until  suddenly  Hetty  raised  her  beautiful  lashes 
and  met  Nathan's  gaze,  the  gaze  of  a  boy  just 
turned  to  man:  ardent,  warm,  compelling. 
There  was  a  startled  moment  of  recognition, 
a  tremulous  approach,  almost  an  embrace,  of 
regard ;  each  sent  an  electric  current  across  the 
protective  separating  space,  the  two  pairs  of 
eyes  met  and  said,  "I  love  you,"  in  such  clear 
tones  that  Nathan  and  Hetty  marveled  that 
the  Elder  did  not  hear  them.  Somebody  says 
that  love,  like  a  scarlet  spider,  can  spin  a  thread 
between  two  hearts  almost  in  an  instant,  so  fine 
as  to  be  almost  invisible,  yet  it  will  hold  with 
the  tenacity  of  an  iron  chain.   The  thread  had 


THE   LOWER   PLANE 

been  spun;  it  was  so  delicate  that  neither 
Nathan  nor  Hetty  had  seen  the  scarlet  spider 
spinning  it,  but  the  strength  of  both  would  not 
avail  to  snap  the  bond  that  held  them  together. 

The  moments  passed.  Hetty's  kerchief  rose 
and  fell,  rose  and  fell  tumultuously,  while  her 
face  was  suffused  with  color.  Nathan's  knees 
quivered  under  him,  and  when  the  Elder  rose, 
and  they  began  the  sacred  march,  the  lad  could 
hardly  stand  for  trembling.  He  dreaded  the 
moment  when  the  lines  of  Believers  would 
meet,  and  he  and  Hetty  would  walk  the  length 
of  the  long  room  almost  beside  each  other. 
Could  she  hear  his  heart  beating,  Nathan 
wondered;  while  Hetty  was  palpitating  with 
fear  lest  Nathan  see  her  blushes  and  divine 
their  meaning.  Oh,  the  joy  of  it,  the  terror  of 
it,  the  strange  exhilaration  and  the  sudden  sen- 
sation of  sin  and  remorse! 

The  meeting  over,  Nathan  flung  himself  on 
the  haymow  in  the  great  barn,  while  Hetty  sat 
with  her  "Synopsis  of  Shaker  Theology"  at 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

an  open  window  of  the  girls'  building,  seeing 
nothing  in  the  lines  of  print  but  visions  that 
should  not  have  been  there.  It  was  Nathan 
who  felt  most  and  suffered  most  and  was  most 
conscious  of  sin,  for  Hetty,  at  first,  scarcely 
knew  whither  she  was  drifting. 

She  went  into  the  herb-garden  with  Susanna 
one  morning  during  the  week  that  followed  the 
fatal  Sunday.  Many  of  the  plants  to  be  used 
for  seasoning  —  sage,  summer  savory,  sweet 
marjoram,  and  the  like  —  were  quite  ready  for 
gathering.  As  the  two  women  were  busy  at 
work,  Susanna  as  full  of  her  thoughts  as  Hetty 
of  hers,  the  sound  of  a  step  was  heard  brushing 
the  grass  of  the  orchard.  Hetty  gave  a  ner- 
vous start;  her  cheeks  grew  so  crimson  and 
her  breath  so  short  that  Susanna  noticed  the 
change. 

"It  will  be  Brother  Ansel  coming  along  to 
the  grindstone,"  Hetty  stammered,  burying  her 
head  in  the  leaves. 

"No,"   Susanna  answered,  "it  is  Nathan. 


THE   LOWER  PLANE 

He  has  a  long  pole  with  a  saw  on  the  end.  He 
must  be  going  to  take  the  dead  branches  off 
the  apple  trees ;  I  heard  Ansel  tell  him  yester- 
day to  do  it." 

"Yee,  that  will  be  it,"  said  Hetty,  bending 
over  the  plants  as  if  she  were  afraid  to  look 
elsewhere. 

Nathan  came  nearer  to  the  herb-garden.  He 
was  a  tall,  stalwart,  handsome  enough  fellow, 
even  in  his  quaint  working  garb.  As  the  Sisters 
spun  and  wove  the  cloth  as  well  as  cut  and 
made  the  men's  garments,  and  as  the  Brothers 
themselves  made  the  shoes,  there  was  naturally 
no  great  air  of  fashion  about  the  Shaker  rai- 
ment ;  but  Nathan  carried  it  better  than  most. 
His  skin  was  fair  and  rosy,  the  down  on  his 
upper  lip  showed  dawning  manhood,  and 
when  he  took  off  his  broad-brimmed  straw  hat 
and  stretched  to  his  full  height  to  reach  the 
upper  branches  of  the  apple  trees,  he  made  a 
picture  of  clean,  wholesome,  vigorous  youth. 

Suddenly  Susanna  raised  her  head  and  sur- 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

prised  Hetty  looking  at  the  lad  with  all  her 
heart  in  her  eyes.  At  the  same  moment  Nathan 
turned,  and  before  he  could  conceal  the  telltale 
ardor  of  his  glance,  it  had  sped  to  Hetty.  With 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation  he  stooped  in- 
stantly as  if  to  steady  the  saw  on  the  pole,  but 
it  was  too  late  to  mend  matters :  his  tale  was 
told  so  far  as  Susanna  was  concerned;  but  it 
was  better  she  should  suspect  than  one  of  the 
Believers  or  Eldress  Abby. 

Susanna  worked  on  in  silent  anxiety.  The 
likelihood  of  such  crises  as  this  had  sometimes 
crossed  her  mind,  and  knowing  how  frail 
human  nature  is,  she  often  marveled  that  in- 
stances seemed  so  infrequent.  Her  instinct  told 
her  that  in  every  Community  the  risk  must 
exist,  even  though  all  were  doubly  warned  and 
armed  against  the  temptations  that  flesh  is  heir 
to ;  yet  no  hint  of  danger  had  showed  itself  dur- 
ing the  months  in  which  she  had  been  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Shaker  family.  She  had  heard  the 
Elder's  plea  to  the  young  converts  to  take  up 


THE   LOWER  PLANE 

"a  full  cross  against  the  flesh";  she  had  lis- 
tened to  Eldress  Abby  when  she  told  them  that 
the  natural  life,  its  thoughts,  passions,  feelings, 
and  associations,  must  be  turned  against  once 
and  forever;  but  her  heart  melted  in  pity  for 
the  two  poor  young  things  struggling  help- 
lessly against  instincts  of  which  they  hardly 
knew  the  meaning,  so  cloistered  had  been  the 
life  they  lived.  The  kind,  conscientious  hands 
that  had  fed  them  would  now  seem  hard  and 
unrelenting;  the  place  that  had  been  home 
would  turn  to  a  prison ;  the  life  that  Elder  Gray 
preached,  "the  life  of  a  purer  godliness  than 
can  be  attained  by  marriage,"  had  seemed  dif- 
ficult, perhaps,  but  possible;  and  now  how 
cold  and  hopeless  it  would  appear  to  these  two 
young,  undisciplined,  flaming  hearts ! 

"Hetty  dear,  talk  to  me!"  whispered  Su- 
sanna, softly  touching  her  shoulder,  and  won- 
dering if  she  could  somehow  find  a  way  to 
counsel  the  girl  in  her  perplexity. 

Hetty    started    rebelliously    to   her   feet   as 


1 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

Nathan  moved  away  farther  into  the  orchard. 
"If  you  say  a  single  thing  to  me,  or  a  word 
about  me  to  Eldress  Abby,  I'll  run  away  this 
very  day.  Nobody  has  any  right  to  speak  to 
me,  and  I  just  want  to  be  let  alone!  It's  all 
very  well  for  you,"  she  went  on  passionately. 
"  What  have  you  had  to  give  up  ?  Nothing  but 
a  husband  you  did  n't  love  and  a  home  you 
did  n't  want  to  stay  in.  Like  as  not  you'll  be 
a  Shaker,  and  they'll  take  you  for  a  saint;  but 
anyway  you'll  have  had  your  life." 

"You  are  right,  Hetty,"  said  Susanna, 
quietly;  "but  oh!  my  dear,  the  world  outside 
is  n't  such  a  Paradise  for  young  girls  like  you, 
motherless  and  fatherless  and  penniless.  You 
have  a  good  home  here ;  can't  you  learn  to  like 
it?" 

"Out  in  the  world  people  can  do  as  they  like 
and  nobody  thinks  of  calling  them  wicked!" 
sobbed  Hetty,  flinging  herself  down,  and  put- 
ting her  head  in  Susanna's  aproned  lap.  "  Here 
you've  got  to  live  like  an  angel,  and  if  you 


THE   LOWER  PLANE 

don't,  you've  got  to  confess  every  wrong 
thought  you've  had,  when  the  time  comes." 

"Whatever  you  do,  Hetty,  be  open  and 
aboveboard ;  don't  be  hasty  and  foolish,  or  you 
may  be  sorry  forever  afterwards." 

Hetty's  mood  changed  again  suddenly  to 
one  of  mutiny,  and  she  rose  to  her  feet. 

"You  have  n't  got  any  right  to  interfere  with 
me  anyway,  Susanna;  and  if  you  think  it's 
your  duty  to  tell  tales,  you'll  only  make  mat- 
ters worse"  ;  and  so  saying  she  took  her  basket 
and  fled  across  the  fields  like  a  hunted  hare. 

That  evening,  as  Hetty  left  the  infirmary, 
where  she  had  been  sent  with  a  bottle  of  lini- 
ment for  the  nursing  Sisters,  she  came  upon 
Nathan  standing  gloomily  under  the  spruce 
trees  near  the  back  of  the  building.  It  was 
eight  o'clock  and  quite  dark.  It  had  been  rain- 
ing during  the  late  afternoon  and  the  trees  were 
still  dripping  drearily.  Hetty  came  upon 
Nathan  so  suddenly,  that,  although  he  had 
been  in  her  thoughts,  she  gave  a  frightened 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

little  cry  when  he  drew  her  peremptorily  under 
the  shadow  of  the  branches.  The  rules  that 
govern  the  Shaker  Community  are  very  strict, 
but  in  reality  the  true  Believer  never  thinks  of 
them  as  rules,  nor  is  trammeled  by  them.  They 
are  fixed  habits  of  the  blood,  as  common,  as 
natural,  as  sitting  or  standing,  eating  or  drink- 
ing. No  Brother  is  allowed  to  hold  any 
lengthy  interview  with  a  Sister,  nor  to  work, 
walk,  or  drive  with  her  alone ;  but  these  protec- 
tive customs,  which  all  are  bound  in  honor  to 
keep,  are  too  much  a  matter  of  every-day  life 
to  be  strange  or  irksome. 

"I  must  speak  to  you,  Hetty,"  whispered 
Nathan.  "I  cannot  bear  it  any  longer  alone. 
What  shall  we  do?" 

"Do?"  echoed  Hetty,  trembling. 

"Yes,  do."  There  was  no  pretense  of  asking 
her  if  she  loved  or  suffered,  or  lived  in  torture 
and  suspense.  They  had  not  uttered  a  word  to 
each  other,  but  their  eyes  had  "shed  mean- 


THE   LOWER   PLANE 

"You  know  we  can't  go  on  like  this,"  he 
continued  rapidly.  "We  can't  eat  their  food, 
stay  alongside  of  them,  pray  their  prayers  and 
act  a  lie  all  the  time,  —  we  cant !  " 

"Nay,  we  can't!"  said  Hetty.  "Oh,  Nathan, 
shall  we  confess  all  and  see  if  they  will  help 
us  to  resist  temptation  ?  I  know  that 's  what 
Susanna  would  want  me  to  do,  but  oh!  I 
should  dread  it." 

"Nay,  it  is  too  late,"  Nathan  answered 
drearily.  "They  could  not  help  us,  and  we 
should  be  held  under  suspicion  forever  after." 

"I  feel  so  wicked  and  miserable  and  un- 
faithful, I  don't  know  what  to  do!"  sobbed 
Hetty. 

"Yee,  so  do  I!"  the  lad  answered.  "And  I 
feel  bitter  against  my  father,  too.  He  brought 
me  here  to  get  rid  of  me,  because  he  did  n't 
dare  leave  me  on  somebody's  doorstep.  He 
ought  to  have  come  back  when  I  was  grown  a 
man  and  asked  me  if  I  felt  inclined  to  be  a 
Shaker,  and  if  I  was  good  enough  to  be  one! " 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

"And  my  stepfather  wouldn't  have  me  in 
the  house,  so  my  mother  had  to  give  me  away ; 
but  they're  both  dead,  and  I'm  alone  in  the 
world,  though  I've  never  felt  it,  because  the 
Sisters  are  so  kind.  Now  they  will  hate  me  — 
though  they  don't  hate  anybody." 

"You've  got  me,  Hetty!  We  must  go  away 
and  be  married.  We'd  better  go  to-night  to 
the  minister  in  Albion." 

"What  if  he  would  n't  do  it?" 

"  Why  should  n't  he  ?  Shakers  take  no  vows, 
though  I  feel  bound,  hand  and  foot,  out  of 
gratitude.  If  any  other  two  young  folks  went 
to  him,  he  would  marry  them;  and  if  he  re- 
fuses, there  are  two  other  ministers  in  Albion, 
besides  two  more  in  Buryfield,  five  miles 
farther.  If  they  won't  marry  us  to-night,  I'll 
leave  you  in  some  safe  home  and  we'll  walk  to 
Portland  to-morrow.  I'm  young  and  strong, 
and  I  know  I  can  earn  our  living  somehow." 

"But  we  have  n't  the  price  of  a  lodging  or 
a  breakfast  between  us,"  Hetty  said  tearfully. 


THE  LOWER  PLANE 

"Would  it  be  sinful  to  take  some  of  my  basket- 
work  and  send  back  the  money  next  week?" 

"Yee,  it  would  be  so,"  Nathan  answered 
sternly.  "The  least  we  can  do  is  to  go  away 
as  empty-handed  as  we  came.  I  can  work  for 
our  breakfast." 

"Oh,  I  can't  bear  to  disappoint  Eldress 
Abby,"  cried  Hetty,  breaking  anew  into  tears. 
"She'll  say  we've  run  away  to  live  on  the 
lower  plane  after  agreeing  to  crucify  Nature 
and  follow  the  angelic  life!" 

"I  know;  but  there  are  five  hundred  people 
in  Albion  all  living  in  marriage,  and  we  shan't 
be  the  only  sinners!"  Nathan  argued.  "Oh, 
Sister  Hetty,  dear  Hetty,  keep  up  your  spirits 
and  trust  to  me!" 

Nathan's  hand  stole  out  and  met  Hetty's  in 
its  warm  clasp,  the  first  hand  touch  that  the 
two  ignorant  young  creatures  had  ever  felt. 
Nathan's  knowledge  of  life  had  been  a  journey 
to  the  Canterbury  Shakers  in  New  Hampshire 
with  Brother  Issachar;  Hetty's  was  limited  to 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

a  few  drives  into  Albion  village,  and  half  a* 
dozen  chats  with  the  world's  people  who  came 
to  the  Settlement  to  buy  basket-work. 

"I  am  not  able  to  bear  the  Shaker  life!" 
sighed  Nathan.  "Elder  Gray  allows  there  be 
such!" 

"Nor  I,"  murmured  Hetty.  "Eldress  Har- 
riet knows  I  am  no  saint!" 

Hetty's  head  was  now  on  Nathan's  shoulder. 
The  stiff  Shaker  cap  had  resisted  bravely,  but 
the  girl's  head  had  yielded  to  the  sweet  proxim- 
ity. Youth  called  to  youth  triumphantly;  the 
Spirit  was  unheard,  and  all  the  theories  of  celi- 
bacy and  the  angelic  life  that  had  been  poured 
into  their  ears  vanished  into  thin  air.  The 
thick  shade  of  the  spruce  tree  hid  the  kiss  that 
would  have  been  so  innocent,  had  they  not 
given  themselves  to  the  Virgin  Church;  the 
drip,  drip,  drip  of  the  branches  on  their  young 
heads  passed  unheeded. 

Then,  one  following  the  other  silently  along 
the  highroad,  hurrying  along  in  the  shadows 


THE  LOWER  PLANE 

of  the  tall  trees,  stealing  into  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  or  hiding  behind  a  thicket  of  alders  at 
the  fancied  sound  of  a  footstep  or  the  distant 
rumble  of  a  wagon,  Nathan  and  Hetty  forsook 
the  faith  of  Mother  Ann  and  went  out  into  the 
world  as  Adam  and  Eve  left  the  garden,  with 
the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  implanted  in 
their  hearts.  The  voice  of  Eldress  Abby  pur- 
sued Hetty  in  her  flight  like  the  voice  in  a 
dream.  She  could  hear  its  clear  impassioned 
accents,  saying,  "The  children  of  this  world 
marry ;  but  the  children  of  the  resurrection  do 
not  marry,  for  they  are  as  the  angels."  The 
solemn  tones  grew  fainter  and  fainter  as 
Hetty's  steps  led  her  farther  and  farther  away 
from  the  quiet  Shaker  village  and  its  drab-clad 
Sisters,  and  at  last  they  almost  died  into  silence, 
because  Nathan's  voice  was  nearer  and  Na- 
than's voice  was  dearer. 


VII 
CONCERNING  BACKSLIDERS 


VIII 

THERE  was  no  work  in  the  herb-garden 
now,  but  there  was  never  a  moment 
from  dawn  till  long  after  dusk  when  the  busy 
fingers  of  the  Shaker  Sisters  were  still.  When 
all  else  failed  there  was  the  knitting :  socks  for 
the  Brothers  and  stockings  for  the  Sisters  and 
socks  and  stockings  of  every  size  for  the  chil- 
dren. One  of  the  quaint  sights  of  the  Settle- 
ment to  Susanna  was  the  clump  of  young  Sis- 
ters on  the  porch  of  the  girls'  building,  knit- 
ting, knitting,  in  the  afternoon  sun.  Even  little 
Shaker  Jane  and  Mary,  Maria  and  Lucinda, 
had  their  socks  in  hand,  and  plied  their  short 
knitting-needles  soberly  and  not  unskillfully. 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

The  sight  of  their  industry  incited  the  impetu- 
ous Sue  to  effort,  and  under  the  patient  tutelage 
of  Sister  Martha  she  mastered  the  gentle  art. 
Susanna  never  forgot  the  hour  when,  coming 
from  her  work  in  the  seed-room,  she  crossed 
the  grass  with  a  message  to  Martha,  and  saw 
the  group  of  children  and  girls  on  the  western 
porch,  a  place  that  caught  every  ray  of  after- 
noon sun,  the  last  glint  of  twilight,  and  the  first 
hint  of  sunset  glow.  Sister  Martha  had  been 
reading  the  Sabbath-school  lesson  for  the  next 
day,  and  as  Susanna  neared  the  building, 
Martha's  voice  broke  into  a  hymn.  Falteringly 
the  girls'  voices  followed  the  lead,  uncertain  at 
first  of  words  or  tune,  but  gaining  courage  and 
strength  as  they  went  on :  — 

"As  the  waves  of  the  mighty  ocean 

Gospel  love  we  will  circulate, 
And  as  we  give,  in  due  proportion, 

We  of  the  heavenly  life  partake. 
Heavenly  Life,  Glorious  Life, 

Resurrecting,  Soul-Inspiring, 


The  clear,  innocent  treble  sounded  sweetly 
in  the  virgin  stillness  and  solitude  of  the  Settle- 
ment, and  as  Susanna  drew  closer  she  stopped 
under  a  tree  to  catch  the  picture  —  Sister 
Martha,  grave,  tall,  discreet,  singing  with  all 
her  soul  and  marking  time  with  her  hands, 
so  accustomed  to  the  upward  and  downward 
movement  of  the  daily  service.  The  straight, 
plain  dresses  were  as  fresh  and  smooth  as  per- 
fect washing  could  make  them,  and  the  round 
childlike  faces  looked  quaint  and  sweet  with 
the  cropped  hair  tucked  under  the  stiff  little 
caps.  Sue  was  seated  with  Mary  and  Jane  on 
the  steps,  and  Susanna  saw  with  astonishment 
that  her  needles  were  moving  to  and  fro  and 
she  was  knitting  as  serenely  and  correctly  as  a 
mother  in  Israel;  singing,  too,  in  a  delicate 
little  treble  that  was  like  a  skylark's  morning 
note.  Susanna  could  hear  her  distinctly  as  she 
delightedly  flung  out  the  long  words  so  dear 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

to  her  soul  and  so  difficult  to  dull  little  Jane 
and  Mary :  — 

"  Res-ur-rect-ing,  Soul-In-spir-ing, 
Re-gen-er-a-ting  Gospel  Life, 

It  lead-eth  a-way  from  all  sin  and  strife." 

Jane's  cap  was  slightly  unsettled,  causing  its 
wearer  to  stop  knitting  now  and  then  and  pull 
it  forward  or  push  it  back ;  and  in  one  of  these 
little  feminine  difficulties  Susanna  saw  Sue 
reach  forward  and  deftly  transfer  the  cap  to 
her  own  head.  Jane  was  horrified,  but  rather 
slow  to  wrath  and  equally  slow  in  ingenuity. 
Sue  looked  a  delicious  Shaker  with  her  delicate 
face,  her  lovely  eyes,  and  her  yellow  hair  grown 
into  soft  rings ;  and  quite  intoxicated  with  her 
cap,  her  knitting,  and  the  general  air  of  holi- 
ness so  unexpectedly  emanating  from  her,  she 
moved  her  little  hands  up  and  down,  as  the 
tune  rose  and  fell,  in  a  way  that  would  have 
filled  Eldress  Abby  with  joy.  Susanna's  heart 
beat  fast,  and  she  wondered  for  a  moment,  as 
she  went  back  to  her  room,  whether  she  could 


CONCERNING   BACKSLIDERS 

ever  give  Sue  a  worldly  childhood  more  free 
from  danger  than  the  life  she  was  now  living. 
She  found  letters  from  Aunt  Louisa  and  Jack 
on  reaching  her  room,  and  they  lay  in  her  lap 
under  a  pile  of  towels,  to  be  read  and  reread 
while  her  busy  needle  flew  over  the  coarse 
crash.  Sue  stole  in  quietly,  kissed  her  mother's 
cheek,  and  sat  down  on  her  stool  by  the  win- 
dow, marveling,  with  every  "under"  of  the 
needle  and  "over"  of  the  yarn,  that  it  was  she, 
Sue  Hathaway,  who  was  making  a  real  stock- 
ing. 

Jack's  pen  was  not  that  of  an  especially 
ready  writer,  but  he  had  a  practical  way  of 
conveying  considerable  news.  His  present  con- 
tributions, when  freed  from  their  phonetic 
errors  and  spelled  in  Christian  fashion,  read 
somewhat  as  follows  :  — 


Father  says  I  must  write  to  you  every  week, 
even  if  I  make  him  do  without,  so  I  will.  I  am 
well,  and  so  is  Aunt  Louisa,  and  any  boy  that 


meal.  What  did  Sue  get  for  her  birthday? 
I  got  a  book  from  father  and  one  from  Aunt 
Louisa  and  the  one  from  you  that  you  told  her 
to  buy.  It  is  queer  that  people  will  give  a  boy 
books  when  he  has  only  one  knife,  and  that  a 
broken  one.  There's  a  book  prize  to  be  given 
at  the  school,  and  I  am  pretty  afraid  I  will  get 
that,  too;  it  would  be  just  my  luck.  Teachers 
think  about  nothing  but  books  and  what  good 
they  do,  but  I  heard  of  a  boy  that  had  a  grand 
knife  with  five  sharp  blades  and  a  corkscrew, 
and  in  a  shipwreck  he  cut  all  the  ropes,  so  the 
sail  came  down  that  was  carrying  them  on  to 
the  rocks,  and  then  by  boring  a  hole  with  his 
corkscrew  all  the  water  leaked  out  of  the  ship 
that  had  been  threatening  to  sink  the  sailors. 
I  could  use  a  little  pocket  money,  as  Aunt 
Louisa  keeps  me  short.  ...  I  have  been 
spending  Sunday  with  father,  and  had  a  pretty 
good  time,  not  so  very.    Father  will  take  me 


CONCERNING  BACKSLIDERS 

about  more  when  he  stops  going  to  the  store, 
which  will  be  next  week  for  good.  The  kitchen 
floor  is  new  painted,  and  Ellen  says  it  sticks, 
and  Aunt  Louisa  is  going  to  make  Ellen  clean 
house  in  case  you  come  home.  Do  you  like 
where  you  are?  Our  teacher  told  the  girls' 
teacher  it  seemed  a  long  stay  for  any  one  who 
had  a  family,  and  the  boys  at  school  call  me 
a  half  orphan  and  say  my  mother  has  left  me 
and  so  my  father  has  to  board  me  in  the  coun- 
try. My  money  is  run  out  again.  I  sat  down 
in  a  puddle  this  afternoon,  but  it  dried  up 
pretty  quick  and  did  n't  hurt  my  clothes,  so 
no  more  from  your  son 

Jack. 


This  was  the  sort  of  message  that  had  been 
coming  to  Susanna  of  late,  bringing  up  little 
pictures  of  home  duties  and  responsibilities, 
homely  tasks  and  trials.  "John  giving  up  the 
store  for  good";  what  did  that  mean?  Had 
he  gone  from  bad  to  worse  in  the  solitude  that 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

she  had  hoped  might  show  him  the  gravity 
of  his  offenses,  the  error  of  his  ways  ?  In  case 
she  should  die,  what  then  would  become  of 
the  children?  Would  Louisa  accept  the  bur- 
den of  Jack,  for  whom  she  had  never  cared  ? 
Would  the  Shakers  take  Sue?  She  would  be 
safe;  perhaps  she  would  always  be  happy; 
but  brother  and  sister  would  be  divided  and 
brought  up  as  strangers.  Would  little  Sue, 
grown  to  big  Sue,  say  some  time  or  other,  "My 
mother  renounced  the  world  for  herself,  but 
what  right  had  she  to  renounce  it  for  me  ?  Why 
did  she  rob  me  of  the  dreams  of  girlhood  and 
the  natural  hopes  of  women,  when  I  was  too 
young  to  give  consent?"  These  and  other 
unanswerable  questions  continually  drifted 
through  Susanna's  mind,  disturbing  its  bal- 
ance and  leaving  her  like  a  shuttlecock  bandied 
to  and  fro  between  conflicting  blows. 

"Mardie,"  came  a  soft  little  voice  from 
across  the  room;  "Mardie,  what  is  a  back- 
slider?" 


CONCERNING  BACKSLIDERS 

"Where  did  you  hear  that  long  word,  Sue  ?" 
asked  Susanna,  rousing  herself  from  her  dream. 

"  'T  is  n't  so  long  as  ' regenerating'  and  more 
easier." 

"Regenerating  means  'making  over/  you 
know." 

"  There  'd  ought  to  be  children's  words  and 
grown-up  words,  —  that's  what  /  think,"  said 
Sue,  decisively;  "but  what  does  'backslider' 
mean  r 

"A  backslider  is  one  who  has  been  climbing 
up  a  hill  and  suddenly  begins  to  slip  back." 

"Does  n't  his  feet  take  hold  right,  or  why 
does  he  slip?" 

"Perhaps  he  can't  manage  his  feet;  perhaps 
they  just  won't  climb." 

"Yes,  or  p'raps  he  just  doesn't  want  to 
climb  any  more;  but  it  must  be  frightensome, 
sliding  backwards." 

"I  suppose  it  is." 

"Is  it  wicked?" 

"Why,  yes,  it  is,  generally;  perhaps  always." 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

"Brother  Nathan  and  Sister  Hetty  were 
backsliders;  Sister  Tabitha  said  so.  She  told 
Jane  never  to  speak  their  names  again  any 
more  than  if  they  was  dead." 

"Then  you  had  better  not  speak  of  them, 
either." 

"There's  so  many  things  better  not  to  speak 
of  in  the  world,  sometimes  I  think  't  would  be 
nicer  to  be  an  angel." 

"Nicer,  perhaps,  but  one  has  to  be  very 
good  to  be  an  angel." 

"Backsliders  could  n't  be  angels,  I  s'pose?" 

"  Not  while  they  were  backsliders ;  but  per- 
haps they  'd  begin  to  climb  again,  and  then  in 
time  they  might  grow  to  be  angels." 

"I  shouldn't  think  likely,"  remarked  Sue, 
decisively,  clicking  her  needles  as  one  who 
could  settle  most  spiritual  problems  in  a  jiffy. 
"  I  think  the  sliding  kind  is  diff 'rent  from  the 
climbing  kind,  and  they  don't  make  easy  an- 
gels." 

A   long   pause   followed   this    expression    of 


CONCERNING   BACKSLIDERS 

opinion,  this  simple  division  of  the  human  race, 
at  the  start,  into  sheep  and  goats.  Then  pre- 
sently the  untiring  voice  broke  the  stillness  again. 

"Nathan  and  Hetty  slid  back  when  they 
went  away  from  here.  Did  we  backslide  when 
we  left  Fardie  and  Jack?" 

"I'm  not  sure  but  that  we  did,"  said  poor 
Susanna. 

"There's  children-Shakers,  and  brother-and- 
sister  Shakers,  but  no  father-and-mother  Shak- 
ers ?  " 

"No;  they  think  they  can  do  just  as  much 
good  in  the  world  without  being  mothers  and 
fathers." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"  Ye-es,  I  believe  I  do." 

"Well,  are  you  a  truly  Shaker,  or  can't  you 
be  till  you  wear  a  cap?" 

"I'm  not  a  Shaker  yet,  Sue." 

"You're  just  only  a  mother?" 

"Yes,  that's  about  all." 

"  Maybe  we'd  better  go  back  to  where  there's 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

not  so  many  Sisters  and  more  mothers,  so  you  '11 
have  somebody  to  climb  togedder  with?" 

"I  could  climb  here,  Sue,  and  so  could  you." 

"Yes,  but  who'll  Fardie  and  Jack  climb 
with?  I  wish  they  'd  come  and  see  us.  Brother 
Ansel  would  make  Fardie  laugh,  and  Jack 
would  love  farm-work,  and  we  'd  all  be  so 
happy.  I  miss  Fardie  awfully !  He  did  n't 
speak  to  me  much,  but  I  liked  to  look  at  his 
curly  hair  and  think  how  lovely  it  would  be  if 
he  did  take  notice  of  me  and  play  with  me." 

A  sob  from  Susanna  brought  Sue,  startled, 
to  her  side. 

"You  break  my  heart,  Sue!  You  break  it 
every  day  with  the  things  you  say.  Don't  you 
love  me,  Sue?" 

"More'n  tongue  can  tell!"  cried  Sue,  throw- 
ing herself  into  her  mother's  arms.  "Don't 
cry,  darling  Mardie!  I  won't  talk  any  more, 
not  for  days  and  days !  Let  me  wipe  your  poor 
eyes.  Don't  let  Elder  Gray  see  you  crying,  or 
he'll  think  I've  been  naughty.   He's  just  going 


CONCERNING   BACKSLIDERS 

in  downstairs  to  see  Eldress  Abby.  Was  it 
wrong  what  I  said  about  backsliding,  or  what, 
Mardie  ?  We'll  help  each  udder  climb,  an'  then 
we'll  go  home  an'  help  poor  lonesome  Fardie; 
shall  we?" 


"Abby!"  called  Elder  Gray,  stepping  into 
the  entry  of  the  Office  Building. 

"Yee,  I'm  coming,"  Eldress  Abby  answered 
from  the  stairway.  "Go  right  out  and  sit  down 
on  the  bench  by  the  door,  where  I  can  catch  a 
few  minutes  more  light  for  my  darning;  the 
days  seem  to  be  growing  short  all  to  once.  Did 
Lemuel  have  a  good  sale  of  basket-work  at  the 
mountains  ?  Rosetta  has  n't  done  so  well  for 
years  at  Old  Orchard.  We  seem  to  be  prosper- 
ing in  every  material  direction,  Daniel,  but  my 
heart  is  heavy  somehow,  and  I  have  to  be  in- 
stant in  prayer  to  keep  from  discouragement." 

"It  has  n't  been  an  altogether  good  year  with 
us  spiritually,"  confessed  Daniel;  "perhaps  we 
needed  chastening." 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

"If  we  needed  it,  we've  received  it,"  Abby 
ejaculated,  as  she  pushed  her  darning-ball  into 
the  foot  of  a  stocking.  "Nothing  has  happened 
since  I  came  here  thirty  years  ago  that  has  trou- 
bled me  like  the  running  away  of  Nathan  and 
Hetty.  If  they  had  been  new  converts,  we  should 
have  thought  the  good  seed  hadn't  got  fairly 
rooted,  but  those  children  were  brought  to  us 
when  Nathan  was  eleven  and  Hetty  nine." 

"I  well  remember,  for  the  boy's  father  and 
the  girl's  mother  came  on  the  same  train;  a 
most  unusual  occurrence  to  receive  two  children 
in  one  day." 

"I  have  cause  to  remember  Hetty  in  her  first 
month,  for  she  was  as  wild  as  a  young  hawk. 
She  laughed  in  meeting  the  first  Sunday,  and 
when  she  came  back,  I  told  her  to  sit  behind  me 
in  silence  for  half  an  hour  while  I  was  reading 
my  Bible.  'Be  still  now,  Hetty,  and  labor  to 
repent,'  I  said.  When  the  time  was  up,  she  said 
in  a  meek  little  mite  of  a  voice,  'I  think  I'm 
least   in   the    Kingdom   now,   Eldress    Abby!' 


CONCERNING   BACKSLIDERS 

'Then  run  outdoors,'  I  said.  She  kicked  up  her 
heels  like  a  colt  and  was  through  the  door  in  a 
second.  Not  long  afterwards  I  put  my  hands 
behind  me  to  tie  my  apron  tighter,  and  if  that 
child  had  n't  taken  my  small  scissors  lying  on 
the  table  and  cut  buttonholes  all  up  and  down 
my  strings,  hundreds  of  them,  while  she  was 
'laboring  to  repent.'  " 

Elder  Gray  smiled  reminiscently,  though  he 
had  often  heard  the  story  before.  "Neither  of 
the  children  came  from  godly  families,"  he 
said,  "but  at  least  the  parents  never  interfered 
with  us  nor  came  here  putting  false  ideas  into 
their  children's  heads." 

"That's  what  I  say,"  continued  Abby ;  "and 
now,  after  ten  years'  training  and  discipline  in 
the  angelic  life,  Hetty  being  especially  promis- 
ing, to  think  of  their  going  away  together,  and 
worse  yet,  being  married  in  Albion  village  right 
at  our  very  doors ;  I  don't  hardly  dare  to  go  to 
bed  nights  for  fear  of  hearing  in  the  morning 
that  some  of  the  other  young  folks  have  been 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

led  astray  by  this  foolish  performance  of  Hetty's ; 
I  know  it  was  Hetty's  fault ;  Nathan  never  had 
ingenuity  enough  to  think  and  plan  it  all  out." 

"Nay,  nay,  Abby,  don't  be  too  hard  on  the 
girl ;  I  've  watched  Nathan  closely,  and  he  has 
been  in  a  dangerous  and  unstable  state,  even 
as  long  ago  as  his  last  confession ;  but  this  piece 
of  backsliding,  grievous  as  it  is,  does  n't  cause 
me  as  much  sorrow  as  the  fall  of  Brother 
Ephraim.  To  all  appearance  he  had  conquered 
his  appetite,  and  for  five  years  he  has  led  a 
sober  life.  I  had  even  great  hopes  of  him  for 
the  ministry,  and  suddenly,  like  a  great  cloud 
in  the  blue  sky,  has  come  this  terrible  visitation, 
this  reappearance  of  the  old  Adam.  'Ephraim 
has  returned  to  his  idols.'  " 

"How  have  you  decided  to  deal  with  him, 
Daniel?" 

"It  is  his  first  offense  since  he  cast  in  his  lot 
with  us ;  we  must  rebuke,  chastise,  and  forgive." 

"Yee,  yee,  I  agree  to  that;  but  how  if  he 
makes  us  the  laughing-stock  of  the  community 


CONCERNING    BACKSLIDERS 

and  drags  our  sacred  banner  in  the  dust?  We 
can't  afford  to  have  one  of  our  order  picked  up 
in  the  streets  by  the  world's  people." 

"Have  the  world's  people  found  an  infallible 
way  to  keep  those  of  their  order  out  of  the  gut- 
ters?" asked  Elder  Gray.  "Ephraim  seems 
repentant ;  if  he  is  willing  to  try  again,  we  must 
be  willing  to  do  as  much." 

"  Yee,  Daniel,  you  are  right.  Another  matter 
that  causes  me  anxiety  is  Susanna.  I  never 
yearned  for  a  soul  as  I  yearn  for  hers!  She 
has  had  the  advantage  of  more  education  and 
more  reading  than  most  of  us  have  ever  en- 
joyed ;  she  's  gifted  in  teaching  and  she  wins 
the  children.  She 's  discreet  and  spiritually 
minded;  her  life  in  the  world,  even  with  the 
influence  of  her  dissipated  husband,  has  n't 
really  stained,  only  humbled  her;  she  would 
make  such  a  Shaker,  if  she  was  once  'con- 
vinced,' as  we  have  n't  gathered  in  for  years 
and  years;  but  I  fear  she's  slipping,  slipping 
away,  Daniel ! ' ' 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

"What  makes  you  feel  so  now,  particu- 
larly?" 

"She's  diff'rent  as  time  goes  on.  She's  had 
more  letters  from  that  place  where  her  boy  is ; 
she  cries  nights,  and  though  she  does  n't  relax 
a  mite  with  her  work,  she  drags  about  some- 
times like  a  bird  with  one  wing." 

Elder  Daniel  took  off  his  broad-brimmed 
hat  to  cool  his  forehead  and  hair,  lifting  his 
eyes  to  the  first  pale  stars  that  were  trembling 
in  the  sky,  hesitating  in  silver  and  then  quietly 
deepening  into  gold. 

Brother  Ansel  was  a  Believer  because  he  had 
no  particular  love  for  the  world  and  no  great 
susceptibility  to  its  temptations ;  but  what  had 
drawn  Daniel  Gray  from  the  open  sea  into 
this  quiet  little  backwater  of  a  Shaker  Settle- 
ment? 

After  an  adventurous  early  life,  in  which, 
as  if  youth-intoxicated,  he  had  plunged  from 
danger  to  danger,  experience  to  experience,  he 
suddenly  found  himself  in  a  society  of  which 


CONCERNING  BACKSLIDERS 

he  had  never  so  much  as  heard,  a  company 
of  celibate  brothers  and  sisters  holding  all 
goods  and  possessions  in  common,  and  trying 
to  live  the  "angelic  life"  on  earth.  Illness  de- 
tained him  for  a  month  against  his  will,  but  at 
the  end  of  that  time  he  had  joined  the  Com- 
munity; and  although  it  had  been  twenty-five 
years  since  his  gathering  in,  he  was  still  stead- 
fast in  the  faith. 

His  character  was  of  puritanical  sternness; 
he  was  a  strict  disciplinarian,  and  insisted  upon 
obedience  to  the  rules  of  Shaker  life,  "the  sa- 
cred laws  of  Zion,"  as  he  was  wont  to  term 
them.  He  magnified  his  office,  yet  he  was 
of  a  kindly  disposition  easily  approached  by 
children,  and  not  without  a  quaint  old-time 
humor. 

There  was  a  long  pause  while  the  two  faith- 
ful leaders  of  the  little  flock  were  absorbed  in 
thought;  then  the  Elder  said :  "Susanna's  all 
you  say,  and  the  child,  —  well,  if  she  could 
be  purged  of  her  dross,  I  never  saw  a  creature 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

better  fitted  to  live  the  celestial  life ;  but  we 
must  not  harbor  any  divided  hearts  here. 
When  the  time  comes,  we  must  dismiss  her 
with  our  blessing." 

"Yee,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Eldress  Abby, 
loyally,  but  it  was  with  a  sigh.  Had  she  and 
Tabitha  been  left  to  their  own  instincts,  they 
would  have  gone  out  into  the  highways  and 
hedges,  proselyting  with  the  fervor  of  Mother 
Ann's  day  and  generation. 

"After  all,  Abby,"  said  the  Elder,  rising  to 
take  his  leave,  still  in  a  sort  of  mild  trance,  — 
"after  all,  Abby,  I  suppose  the  Shakers  don't 
own  the  whole  of  heaven.  I'd  like  to  think  so, 
but  I  can't.  It's  a  big  place,  and  it  belongs  to 
God." 


IX 
LOVE  MANIFOLD 


THE  woods  on  the  shores  of  Massabesic 
Pond  were  stretches  of  tapestry,  where 
every  shade  of  green  and  gold,  olive  and  brown, 
orange  and  scarlet,  melted  the  one  into  the 
other.  The  sombre  pines  made  a  deep-toned 
background;  patches  of  sumach  gave  their 
flaming  crimson ;  the  goldenrod  grew  rank  and 
tall  in  glorious  profusion,  and  the  maples  out- 
side the  Office  Building  were  balls  of  brilliant 
carmine.  The  air  was  like  crystal,  and  the  land- 
scape might  have  been  bathed  in  liquid  amber, 
it  was  so  saturated  with  October  yellow. 

Susanna  caught  her  breath  as  she  threw  her 
chamber   window   wider    open    in    the    early 


7 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

morning;  for  the  greater  part  of  the  picture 
had  been  painted  during  the  frosty  night. 

"Throw  your  little  cape  round  your  shoul- 
ders and  come  quickly,  Sue! "  she  exclaimed. 

The  child  ran  to  her  side.  "Oh,  what  a 
goldy,  goldy  morning!"  she  cried. 

One  crimson  leaf  with  a  long  heavy  stem 
that  acted  as  a  sort  of  rudder,  came  down  to 
the  window-sill  with  a  sidelong  scooping  flight, 
while  two  or  three  gayly  painted  ones,  parted 
from  the  tree  by  the  same  breeze,  floated  airily 
along  as  if  borne  on  unseen  wings,  finally 
alighting  on  Sue's  head  and  shoulders  like 
tropical  birds. 

"You  cried  in  the  night,  Mardie!"  said  Sue. 
"  I  heard  you  sniff erling  and  getting  up  for 
your  hank'chief ;  but  I  did  n't  speak  'cause  it's 
so  dreadful  to  be  catched  crying." 

"  Kneel  down  beside  me  and  give  me  part  of 
your  cape,"  her  mother  answered.  "I'm  go- 
ing to  let  my  sad  heart  fly  right  out  of  the 
window  into  those  beautiful  trees." 


LOVE   MANIFOLD 

"And  maybe  a  glad  heart  will  fly  right  in!" 
the  child  suggested. 

"  Maybe.  —  Oh !  we  must  cuddle  close  and 
be  still ;  Elder  Gray  's  going  to  sit  down  under 
the  great  maple ;  and  do  you  see,  all  the  Bro- 
thers seem  to  be  up  early  this  morning,  just  as 
we  are?" 

"More  love,  Elder  Gray!"  called  Issachar, 
on  his  way  to  the  tool-house. 

"More  love,  Brother  Issachar!" 

"More  love,  Brother  Ansel!" 

"More  love,  Brother  Calvin!" 

"More  love!"  "More  love!"  "More  love!" 
So  the  quaint  but  not  uncommon  Shaker 
greeting  passed  from  Brother  to  Brother;  and 
as  Tabitha  and  Martha  and  Rosetta  met  on 
their  way  to  dairy  and  laundry  and  seed-house, 
they,  too,  hearing  the  salutation,  took  up  the 
refrain,  and  Susanna  and  Sue  heard  again  from 
the  women's  voices  that  beautiful  morning 
wish,  "More  love!"  "More  love!"  speeding 
from  heart  to  heart  and  lip  to  lip. 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

Mother  and  child  were  very  quiet. 

"More  love,  Sue!"  said  Susanna,  clasping 
her  closely. 

"More  love,  Mardie!"  whispered  the  child, 
smiling  and  entering  into  the  spirit  of  the  salu- 
tation. "Let's  turn  our  heads  Farnham  way! 
I'll  take  Jack  and  you  take  Fardie,  and  we'll 
say  togedder,  ' More  love ' ;  shall  we?" 

"More  love,  John." 

"More  love,  Jack." 

The  words  floated  out  over  the  trees  in  the 
woman's  trembling  voice  and  the  child's  treble. 

"Elder  Gray  looks  tired  though  he's  just  got 
up,"  Sue  continued. 

"He  is  not  strong,"  replied  her  mother,  re- 
membering Brother  Ansel's  statement  that  the 
Elder  "wa'n't  diseased  anywheres,  but  did  n't 
have  no  durability." 

"The  Elder  would  have  a  lovely  lap,"  Sue 
remarked  presently. 

"What?" 

"A  nice  lap  to  sit  in.   Fardie  has  a  nice  lap, 


hard  lap.  I  love  Elder  Gray,  and  I  climbed  on 
his  lap  one  day.  He  put  me  right  down,  but 
I'm  sure  he  likes  children.  I  wish  I  could  take 
right  hold  of  his  hand  and  walk  all  over  the 
farm,  but  he  would  n't  let  me,  I  s'pose.  — More 
love,  Elder  Gray!"  she  cried  suddenly,  bobbing 
up  above  the  window-sill  and  shaking  her 
fairy  hand  at  him. 

The  Elder  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  the  glad 
voice.  No  human  creature  could  have  failed 
to  smile  back  into  the  roguish  face  or  have 
treated  churlishly  the  sweet,  confident  little 
greeting.  The  heart  of  a  real  man  must  have 
an  occasional  throb  of  the  father,  and  when 
Daniel  Gray  rose  from  his  seat  under  the  maple 
and  called,  "More  love,  child!"  there  was 
something  strange  and  touching  in  his  tone. 
He  moved  away  from  the  tree  to  his  morning 
labors  with  the  consciousness  of  something 
new  to  conquer.   Long,  long  ago  he  had  risen 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

victorious  above  many  of  the  temptations  that 
flesh  is  heir  to.  Women  were  his  good  friends, 
his  comrades,  his  sisters ;  they  no  longer  trou- 
bled the  waters  of  his  soul;  but  here  was  a 
child  who  stirred  the  depths;  who  awakened 
the  potential  father  in  him  so  suddenly  and  so 
strongly  that  he  longed  for  the  sweetness  of  a 
human  tie  that  could  bind  him  to  her.  But  the 
current  of  the  Elder's  being  was  set  towards 
sacrifice  and  holiness,  and  the  common  joys  of 
human  life  he  felt  could  never  and  must  never 
be  his ;  so  he  went  to  the  daily  round,  the  com- 
mon task,  only  a  little  paler,  a  little  soberer 
than  was  his  wont. 

"More  love,  Martha!"  said  Susanna  when 
she  met  Martha  a  little  later  in  the  day. 

"More  love,  Susanna!"  Martha  replied 
cheerily.  "You  heard  our  Shaker  greeting,  I 
see !  It  was  the  beautiful  weather,  the  fine  air 
and  glorious  colors,  that  brought  the  inspira- 
tion this  morning,  I  guess !  It  took  us  all  out  of 
doors,  and  then  it  seemed  to  get  into  the  blood. 


LOVE   MANIFOLD 

Besides,  to-morrow  's  the  Day  of  Sacrifice,  and 
that  takes  us  all  on  to  the  mountain-tops  of 
feeling.  There  have  been  times  when  I  had  to 
own  up  to  a  lack  of  love." 

"You,  Martha,  who  have  such  wonderful 
influence  over  the  children,  such  patience,  such 
affection!" 

"It  was  n't  always  so.  When  I  was  first  put 
in  charge  of  the  children,  I  did  n't  like  the 
work.  They  did  n't  respond  to  me  somehow, 
and  when  they  were  out  of  my  sight  they 
were  ugly  and  disobedient.  My  natural  mother, 
Maria  Holmes,  took  care  of  the  girls'  clothing. 
One  day  she  said  to  me,  '  Martha,  do  you  love 
the  girls?' 

" '  Some  of  them  are  very  unlovely,'  I  replied. 

"'I  know  that,'  she  said,  'but  you  can  never 
help  them  unless  you  love  them.' 

"I  thought  mother  very  critical,  for  I  strove 
scrupulously  to  do  my  duty.  A  few  days  after 
this  the  Elder  said  to  me :  Martha,  do  you  love 
the  girls?'  I  responded,  'Not  very  much.' 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

"'You  cannot  save  them  unless  you  love 
them,'  he  said. 

"Then  I  answered,  'I  will  labor  for  a  gift  of 
love.' 

"When  the  work  of  the  day  was  over,  and 
the  girls  were  in  bed,  I  would  take  off  my  shoes 
and  spend  several  hours  of  the  night  walking 
the  floor,  kneeling  in  prayer  that  I  might  ob- 
tain the  coveted  gift.  For  five  weeks  I  did  this 
without  avail,  when  suddenly  one  night  when 
the  moon  was  full  and  I  was  kneeling  by  the 
window,  a  glory  seemed  to  overshadow  the  crest 
of  a  high  mountain  in  the  distance.  I  thought 
I  heard  a  voice  say:  'Martha,  I  baptize  you 
into  the  spirit  of  love  !  '  I  sat  there  trembling 
for  more  than  an  hour,  and  when  I  rose,  I  felt 
that  I  could  love  the  meanest  human  being  that 
ever  walked  the  earth.  I  have  never  had  any 
trouble  with  children  since  that  night  of  the 
vision.  They  seem  different  to  me,  and  I  dare 
say  I  am  different  to  them." 

"I   wish   I   could   see   visions!"    exclaimed 


LOVE   MANIFOLD 

Susanna.  "Oh,  for  a  glory  that  would  speak 
to  me  and  teach  me  truth  and  duty!  Life  is 
all  mist,  whichever  way  I  turn.  I'd  like  to  be 
lifted  on  to  a  high  place  where  I  could  see 
clearly." 

She  leaned  against  the  frame  of  the  open 
kitchen  door,  her  delicate  face  quivering  with 
emotion  and  longing,  her  attitude  simplicity 
and  unconsciousness  itself.  The  baldest  of 
Shaker  prose  turned  to  purest  poetry  when 
Susanna  dipped  it  in  the  alembic  of  her  own 
imagination. 

"Labor  for  the  gift  of  sight!"  said  Martha, 
who  believed  implicitly  in  spirits  and  visions. 
"Labor  this  very  night." 

It  must  be  said  for  Susanna  that  she  had 
never  ceased  laboring  in  her  own  way  for  many 
days.  The  truth  was  that  she  felt  herself  turn- 
ing from  marriage.  She  had  lived  now  so  long 
in  the  society  of  men  and  women  who  regarded 
it  as  an  institution  not  compatible  with  the 
highest    spiritual     development     that    uncon- 


SUSANNA  AND  SUE 

sciously  her  point  of  view  had  changed; 
changed  all  the  more  because  she  had  been  so 
unhappy  with  the  man  she  had  chosen.  Curi- 
ously enough,  and  unfortunately  enough  for 
Susanna  Hathaway's  peace  of  mind,  the  greater 
aversion  she  felt  towards  the  burden  of  the  old 
life,  towards  the  irksomeness  of  guiding  a 
weaker  soul,  towards  the  claims  of  husband 
on  wife,  the  stronger  those  claims  appeared. 
If  they  had  never  been  assumed !  —  Ah,  but 
they  had ;  there  was  the  rub !  One  sight  of  little 
Sue  sleeping  tranquilly  beside  her;  one  mem- 
ory of  rebellious,  faulty  Jack;  one  vision  of 
John,  either  as  needing  or  missing  her,  the 
rightful  woman,  or  falling  deeper  in  the  wiles 
of  the  wrong  one  for  very  helplessness ;  —  any 
of  these  changed  Susanna  the  would-be  saint, 
in  an  instant  into  Susanna  the  wife  and  mother. 
"Speak  to  me  for  Thy  Compassion's  sake," 
she  prayed  from  the  little  book  of  Confessions 
that  her  mother  had  given  her.  "I  will  follow 
after  Thy  Voice!" 


LOVE   MANIFOLD 

"Would  you  betray  your  trust?"  asked  con- 
science. 

"No,  not  intentionally." 

"Would  you  desert  your  post?" 

"Never,  willingly." 

"You  have  divided  the  family;  taken  a  little 
quail  bird  out  of  the  home-nest  and  left  sorrow 
behind  you.   Would  God  justify  you  in  that?" 

For  the  first  time  Susanna's  "No"  rang 
clearly  enough  for  her  to  hear  it  plainly;  for 
the  first  time  it  was  followed  by  no  vague  mis- 
givings, no  bewilderment,  no  unrest  or  inde- 
cision. "J  turn  hither  and  thither;  Thy  pur- 
poses are  hid  from  me,  but  I  commend  my  soul 
to  Thee  !  " 

Then  a  sentence  from  the  dear  old  book 
came  into  her  memory:  "And  thy  dead  things 
shall  revive,  and  thy  weak  things  shall  be  made 
whole." 

She  listened,  laying  hold  of  every  word,  till 
the  nervous  clenching  of  her  hands  subsided, 
her  face  relaxed  into  peace.  Then  she  lay  down 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

beside  Sue,  creeping  close  to  her  for  the  warmth 
and  comfort  and  healing  of  her  innocent  touch, 
and,  closing  her  eyes  serenely,  knew  no  more  till 
the  morning  broke,  the  Sabbath  morning  of 
Confession  Day. 


X 

IF  Susanna's  path  had  grown  more  difficult, 
more  filled  with  anxieties,  so  had  John 
Hathaway 's.  The  protracted  absence  of  his 
wife  made  the  gossips  conclude  that  the  break 
was  a  final  one.  Jack  was  only  half  contented 
with  his  aunt,  and  would  be  fairly  mutinous 
in  the  winter,  while  Louisa's  general  attitude 
was  such  as  to  show  clearly  that  she  only  kept 
the  boy  for  Susanna's  sake. 

Now  and  then  there  was  a  terrifying  hint  of 
winter  in  the  air,  and  the  days  of  Susanna's  ab- 
sence seemed  eternal  to  John  Hathaway.  Yet  he 
was  a  man  about  whom  there  would  have  been 
but  one  opinion :  that  when  deprived  of  a  rather 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

superior  and  high-minded  wife  and  the  steady- 
ing influence  of  home  and  children,  he  would  go 
completely  "to  the  dogs,"  whither  he  seemed 
to  be  hurrying  when  Susanna's  wifely  courage 
failed.  That  he  had  done  precisely  the  opposite 
and  the  unexpected  thing,  shows  us  perhaps 
that  men  are  not  on  the  whole  as  capable  of 
estimating  the  forces  of  their  fellow  men  as  is 
God  the  maker  of  men,  who  probably  expects 
something  of  the  worst  of  them  up  to  the  very 
last. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  a  hopeless  Sunday  when 
John  took  his  boy  back  to  his  aunt's  towards 
night.  He  wondered  drearily  how  a  woman 
dealt  with  a  ten-year-old  boy  who  from  sunrise 
to  sunset  had  done  every  mortal  thing  he  ought 
not  to  have  done,  and  had  left  undone  every- 
thing that  he  had  been  told  to  do ;  and,  as  if 
to  carry  out  the  very  words  of  the  church  ser- 
vice, neither  was  there  any  health  in  him ;  for 
he  had  an  inflamed  throat  and  a  whining,  irri- 
table, discontented  temper  that  could  be  borne 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER 

only  by  a  mother,  a  father  being  wholly  inad- 
equate and  apparently  never  destined  for  the 
purpose. 

It  was  a  mild  evening  late  in  October,  and 
Louisa  sat  on  the  porch  with  her  pepper-and- 
salt  shawl  on  and  a  black  wool  "rigolette" 
tied  over  her  head.  Jack,  very  sulky  and  unre- 
signed,  was  dispatched  to  bed  under  the  care 
of  the  one  servant,  who  was  provided  with  a 
cupful  of  vinegar,  salt,  and  water,  for  a  gargle. 
John  had  more  than  an  hour  to  wait  for  a  re- 
turning train  to  Farnham,  and  although  ordi- 
narily he  would  have  preferred  to  spend  the  time 
in  the  silent  and  unreproachful  cemetery  rather 
than  in  the  society  of  his  sister  Louisa,  he  was 
too  tired  and  hopeless  to  do  anything  but  sit 
on  the  steps  and  smoke  fitfully  in  the  semi- 
darkness. 

Louisa  was  much  as  usual.  She  well  knew  — 
who  better  ?  —  her  brother's  changed  course 
of  life,  but  neither  encouragement  nor  compli- 
ment were  in  her  line.   Why  should  a  man  be 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

praised  for  living  a  respectable  life  ?  That  John 
had  really  turned  a  sort  of  moral  somersault 
and  come  up  a  different  creature,  she  did  not 
realize  in  the  least,  nor  the  difficulties  sur- 
mounted in  such  a  feat;  but  she  did  give  him 
credit  secretly  for  turning  about  face  and  be- 
having far  more  decently  than  she  could  ever 
have  believed  possible.  She  had  no  conception 
of  his  mental  torture  at  the  time,  but  if  he  kept 
on  doing  well,  she  privately  intended  to  inform 
Susanna  and  at  least  give  her  a  chance  of  try- 
ing him  again,  if  absence  had  diminished  her 
sense  of  injury.  One  thing  that  she  did  not 
know  was  that  John  was  on  the  eve  of  losing 
his  partnership.  When  Jack  had  said  that  his 
father  was  not  going  back  to  the  store  the  next 
week,  she  thought  it  meant  simply  a  vacation. 
Divided  hearts,  broken  vows,  ruined  lives  — 
she  could  bear  the  sight  of  these  with  consider- 
able philosophy,  but  a  lost  income  was  a  very 
different,  a  very  tangible  thing.  She  almost 
lost  her  breath  when  her  brother  knocked  the 


* 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER 

ashes    from   his   meerschaum  and  curtly  told 


her  of  the  proposed  change  in  his  business  rela- 
tions. 

"I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  yet,"  he  said, 
"whether  I  shall  set  up  for  myself  in  a  small 
way  or  take  a  position  in  another  concern  — 
that  is,  if  I  can  get  one  —  my  stock  of  popular- 
ity seems  to  be  pretty  low  just  now  in  Farnham. 
I'd  move  away  to-morrow  and  cut  the  whole 
gossipy,  deceitful,  hypocritical  lot  of  'em  if 
I  was  n't  afraid  of  closing  the  house  and  so 
losing  Susanna,  if  she  should  ever  feel  like 
coming  back  to  us." 

These  words  and  the  thought  back  of  them 
were  too  much  for  John's  self-control.  The 
darkness  helped  him  and  his  need  of  comfort 
was  abject.  Suddenly  he  burst  out,  "Oh, 
Louisa,  for  heaven's  sake,  give  me  a  little 
crumb  of  comfort,  if  you  have  any!  How  can 
you  stand  like  a  stone  all  these  months  and  see 
a  man  suffering  as  I  have  suffered,  without 
giving  him  a  word?" 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

"You  brought  it  on  yourself,"  said  Louisa, 
in  self-exculpation. 

"Does  that  make  it  any  easier  to  bear?" 
cried  John.  "Don't  you  suppose  I  remember 
it  every  hour,  and  curse  myself  the  more  ?  You 
know  perfectly  well  that  I'm  a  different  man 
to-day.  I  don't  know  what  made  me  change; 
it  was  as  if  something  had  been  injected  into 
my  blood  that  turned  me  against  everything 
I  had  liked  best  before.  I  hate  the  sight  of  the 
men  and  the  women  I  used  to  go  with,  not  be- 
cause they  are  any  worse,  but  because  they  re- 
mind me  of  what  I  have  lost.  I  have  reached 
the  point  now  where  I  have  got  to  have  news 
of  Susanna  or  go  and  shoot  myself." 

"That  would  be  about  the  only  piece  of 
foolishness  you  haven't  committed  already!" 
replied  Louisa,  with  a  biting  satire  that  would 
have  made  any  man  let  go  of  the  trigger  in  case 
he  had  gone  so  far  as  to  begin  pulling  it. 

"Where  is  she?"  John  went  on,  without 
anger  at  her  sarcasm.    "Where  is  she,  how  is 


as  bitter  as  she  was  at  first,  does  she  ever  speak 
of  coming  back  ?  —  Tell  me  something,  tell  me 
anything.  I  will  know  something.  I  say  I 
will!" 

Louisa's  calm  demeanor  began  to  show  a  little 
agitation,  for  she  was  not  used  to  the  sight  of 
emotion. 

"I  can't  tell  you  where  Susanna  is,  for  I 
made  her  a  solemn  promise  I  would  n't  unless 
you  or  Jack  were  in  danger  of  some  kind;  but 
I  don't  mind  telling  you  this  much,  that  she  's 
well  and  in  the  safest  kind  of  a  shelter,  for 
she's  been  living  from  the  first  in  a  Shaker 
Settlement." 

"Shaker  Settlement!"  cried  John,  starting 
up  from  his  seat  on  the  steps.  "What's  that? 
I  know  Shaker  egg-beaters  and  garden-seeds 
and  rocking-chairs  and  —  oh,  yes,  I  remember 
their  religion's  against  marriage.  That's  the 
worst  thing  you  could  have  told  me ;  that  ends 
all  hope ;  if  they  once  get  hold  of  a  woman  like 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

Susanna,  they'll  never  let  go  of  her;  if  they 
don't  believe  in  a  woman's  marrying  a  good 
man,  they'd  never  let  her  go  back  to  a  bad  one. 
Oh,  if  I  had  only  known  this  before;  if  only 
you'd  told  me,  Louisa,  perhaps  I  could  have 
done  something.  Maybe  they  take  vows  or 
sign  contracts,  and  so  I  have  lost  her  alto- 
gether." 

"I  don't  know  much  about  their  beliefs,  and 
Susanna  never  explained  them,"  returned 
Louisa,  nervously,  "but  now  that  you've  got 
something  to  offer  her,  why  don't  you  write  and 
ask  her  to  come  back  to  you?  I'll  send  your 
letter  to  her." 

"I  don't  dare,  Louisa,  I  don't  dare," groaned 
John,  leaning  his  head  against  one  of  the  pil- 
lars of  the  porch.  "I  can't  tell  you  the  fear  I 
have  of  Susanna  after  the  way  I've  neglected 
her  this  last  year.  If  she  should  come  in  at  the 
gate  this  minute,  I  could  n't  meet  her  eyes ;  if 
you'd  read  the  letter  she  left  me,  you'd  feel  the 
same  way.   I  deserved  it,  to  the  last  word,  but 


BROTHER  AND   SISTER 

oh,  it  was  like  so  many  separate  strokes  of 
lightning,  and  every  one  of  them  burned.  It 
was  nothing  but  the  truth,  but  it  was  cut  in 
with  a  sharp  sword.  Unless  she  should  come 
back  to  me  of  her  own  accord,  and  she  never 
will,  I  have  n't  got  the  courage  to  ask  her;  just 
have  n't  got  the  courage,  that's  all  there  is  to 
say  about  it."  And  here  John  buried  his  head 
in  his  hands. 

A  very  queer  thing  happened  to  Louisa 
Banks  at  this  moment.  A  half-second  before 
she  would  have  murmured :  — 

"This  rock  shall  fly 
From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I!" 

when  all  at  once,  and  without  warning,  a 
strange  something  occurred  in  the  organ  she 
had  always  regarded  —  and  her  opinion  had 
never  been  questioned  —  as  a  good,  tough, 
love-tight  heart.  First  there  was  a  flutter  and 
a  tremor  running  all  along  her  spine ;  then  her 
eyes  filled ;  then  a  lump  rose  in  her  throat  and 
choked  her ;  then  words  trembled  on  her  tongue 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

and  refused  to  be  uttered;  then  something 
like  a  bird  —  could  it  have  been  the  highly 
respectable  good-as-new  heart  ?  —  throbbed 
under  her  black  silk  Sunday  waist;  then  she 
grew  like  wax  from  the  crown  of  her  head  to 
the  soles  of  her  feet ;  then  in  a  twinkling,  and 
so  unconsciously  as  to  be  unashamed  of  it, 
she  became  a  sister.  You  have  seen  a  gray  No- 
vember morning  melt  into  an  Indian  summer 
noon?  Louisa  Banks  was  like  that,  when,  at 
the  sight  of  a  man  in  sore  trouble,  sympathy 
was  born  in  her  to  soften  the  rockiness  of  her 
original  make-up. 

"There,  there,  John,  don't  be  so  down- 
hearted," she  stammered,  drawing  her  chair 
closer  and  putting  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"We'll  bring  it  round  right,  you  see  if  we  don't. 
You've  done  the  most  yourself  already,  for  I'm 
proud  of  the  way  you've  acted,  stiffening  right 
up  like  an  honest  man  and  showing  you  've  got 
some  good  sensible  Hathaway  stuff  in  you, 
after  all,  and  ain't  ashamed  to  turn  your  back 


BROTHER  AND   SISTER 

on  your  evil  ways.  Susanna  ain't  one  to  refuse 
forgiveness." 

"  She  forgave  for  a  long  time,  but  she  refused 
at  last.  Why  should  she  change  now?"  John 
asked. 

"  You  remember  she  has  n't  heard  a  single 
word  from  you,  nor  about  you,  in  that  out-of- 
the-way  place  where  she's  been  living,"  said 
Louisa,  consolingly.  "She  thinks  you're  the 
same  as  you  were,  or  worse,  maybe.  Perhaps 
she  's  waiting  for  you  to  make  some  sign 
through  me,  for  she  don't  know  that  you  care 
anything  about  her,  or  are  pining  to  have  her 
back." 

"Such  a  woman  as  Susanna  must  know  bet- 
ter than  that!"  cried  John.  "She  ought  to 
know  that  when  a  man  got  used  to  living  with 
anybody  like  her,  he  could  never  endure  any 
other  kind." 

"How  should  she  know  all  that?  Jack's 
been  writing  to  her  and  telling  her  the  news  for 
the  last  few  weeks,  though  I  have  n't  said  a 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

word  about  you  because  I  did  n't  know  how 
long  your  reformation  was  going  to  hold  out; 
but  I  won't  let  the  grass  grow  under  my  feet 
now,  till  I  tell  her  just  how  things  stand!" 

"You're  a  good  woman,  Louisa;  I  don't  see 
why  I  never  noticed  it  before." 

"It's  because  I've  been  concealing  my 
goodness  too  much.  Stay  here  with  me  to- 
night and  don't  go  back  to  brood  in  that  dis- 
mal, forsaken  house.  We'll  see  how  Jack  is  in 
the  morning,  and  if  he's  all  right,  take  him 
along  with  you,  so's  to  be  all  there  together  if 
Susanna  comes  back  this  week,  as  I  kind  of 
hope  she  will.  Make  Ellen  have  the  house  all 
nice  and  cheerful  from  top  to  bottom,  with  a 
good  supper  ready  to  put  on  the  table  the  night 
she  comes.  You'd  better  pick  your  asters  and 
take  'em  in  for  the  parlor,  then  I'll  cut  the 
chrysanthemums  for  you  in  the  middle  of  the 
week.  The  day  she  comes  I'll  happen  in,  and 
stay  to  dinner  if  you  find  it's  going  to  be  mor- 
tifying for  you ;  but  if  everything  is  as  I  expect 


BROTHER  AND   SISTER 

it  will  be,  and  the  way  Susanna  always  did 
have  things,  I'll  make  for  home  and  leave  you 
to  yourselves.  Susanna  ain't  one  to  nag  and 
hector  and  triumph  over  a  man  when  he  's 
repented." 

John  hugged  Louisa,  pepper-and-salt  shawl, 
black  rigolette,  and  all,  when  she  finished  this 
unprecedented  speech;  and  when  he  went  to 
sleep  that  night  in  the  old  north  chamber,  the 
one  he  and  Louisa  had  been  born  in,  the  one 
his  father  and  mother  had  died  in,  it  was  with 
a  little  smile  of  hope  on  his  lips. 

"Set  her  place  at  hearth  and  board 
As  it  used  to  be!" 

These  were  the  last  words  that  crossed  his 
waking  thoughts. 

Before  Louisa  went  to  her  own  bed,  she 
wrote  one  of  her  brief  and  characteristic  epis- 
tles to  Susanna,  but  it  did  not  reach  her,  for 
the  "hills  of  home"  had  called  John's  wife  so 
insistently  on  that  Sunday,  that  the  next  day 
found  her  on  her  way  back  to  Farnham. 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

Dear  Susanna  [so  the  letter  read], — 
There's  a  new  man  in  your  house  at  Farn- 
ham.  His  name  is  John  Hathaway,  but  he's 
made  all  over  and  it  was  high  time.  /  say  it's 
the  hand  of  God !  He  won't  own  up  that  it  is, 
but  I'm  letting  him  alone,  for  I've  done  quar- 
reling, though  I  don't  like  to  see  a  man  get 
religion  and  deny  it,  for  all  the  world  like  Peter 
in  the  New  Testament.  If  you  have  n't  used 
up  the  last  one  of  your  seventy-times-sevens,  I 
think  you'd  better  come  back  and  forgive  your 
husband.  If  you  don't,  you'd  better  send  for 
your  son.  I'm  willing  to  bear  the  burdens  the 
Lord  intends  specially  for  me,  but  Jack  be- 
longs to  you,  and  a  good-sized  heavy  burden  he 
is,  too,  for  his  age.  I  can't  deny  that,  if  he  is  a 
Hathaway.  I  think  he 's  the  kind  of  a  boy  that 
ought  to  be  put  in  a  barrel  and  fed  through  the 
bung-hole  till  he  grows  up ;  but  of  course  I  'm 
not  used  to  children's  ways. 

Be  as  easy  with  John  at  first  as  you  can.  I 
know  you'll  say  /  never  was  with  my  husband, 


BROTHER  AND   SISTER 

but  he  was  different.  He  got  to  like  a  bracing 
treatment,  Adlai  did.  Many's  the  time  he  said 
to  me,  "Louisa,  when  you  make  up  our  minds, 
I'm  always  contented."  But  John  is  n't  made 
that  way.  He's  a  changed  man;  now,  what 
we've  got  to  do  is  to  keep  him  changed.  He 
does  n't  bear  you  any  grudge  for  leaving  him, 
so  he  won't  reproach  you. 

Hoping  to  see  you  before  long,  I  am, 
Yours  as  usual, 

Louisa  Banks. 


XI 

ON  the  Saturday  evening  before  the  yearly 
Day  of  Sacrifice  the  spiritual  heads  of 
each  Shaker  family  call  upon  all  the  Believers 
to  enter  heartily  next  day  into  the  humiliations 
and  blessings  of  open  confession. 

The  Sabbath  dawns  upon  an  awed  and  sol- 
emn household.  Footfalls  are  hushed,  the  chil- 
dren's chatter  is  stilled,  and  all  go  to  the  morn- 
ing meal  in  silence.  There  is  a  strange  quiet, 
but  it  is  not  sadness ;  it  is  a  hush,  as  when  in 
Israel's  camp  the  silver  trumpets  sounded  and 
the  people  stayed  in  their  tents.  "Then," 
Elder  Gray  explained  to  Susanna,  "  a  summons 
comes    to   each    Believer,   for   all   have   been 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

searching  the  heart  and  scanning  the  life  of  the 
months  past.  Softly  the  one  called  goes  to  the 
door  of  the  one  appointed  by  the  Divine  Spirit, 
the  human  representative  who  is  to  receive  the 
gift  of  the  burdened  soul.  Woman  confesses  to 
woman,  man  to  man ;  it  is  the  open  door  that 
leads  to  God." 

Susanna  lifted  Eldress  Abby's  latch  and 
stood  in  her  strong,  patient  presence ;  then  all 
at  once  she  knelt  impulsively  and  looked  up 
into  her  serene  eyes. 

"Do  you  come  as  a  Believer,  Susanna?" 
tremblingly  asked  the  Eldress. 

"No,  Eldress  Abby.  I  come  as  a  child  of  the 
world  who  wants  to  go  back  to  her  duty,  and 
hopes  to  do  it  better  than  she  ever  did  before. 
She  ought  to  be  able  to,  because  you  have 
chastened  her  pride,  taught  her  the  lesson  of 
patience,  strengthened  her  will,  purified  her 
spirit,  and  cleansed  her  soul  from  bitterness 
and  wrath.  I  waited  till  afternoon  when  all  the 
confessions  were  over.   May  I  speak  now?" 


THE   OPEN   DOOR 

Eldress  Abby  bowed,  but  she  looked  weak 
and  stricken  and  old. 

"I  had  something  you  would  have  called  a 
vision  last  night,  but  I  think  of  it  as  a  dream, 
and  I  know  just  what  led  to  it.  You  told  me 
Polly  Reed's  story,  and  the  little  quail  bird  had 
such  a  charm  for  Sue  that  I've  repeated  it  to 
her  more  than  once.  In  my  sleep  I  seemed  to 
see  a  mother  quail  with  a  little  one  beside  her. 
The  two  were  always  together,  happily  flying 
or  hopping  about  under  the  trees;  but  every 
now  and  then  I  heard  a  sad  little  note,  as  of  a 
deserted  bird  somewhere  in  the  wood.  I  walked 
a  short  distance,  and  parting  the  branches, 
saw  on  the  open  ground  another  parent  bird 
and  a  young  one  by  its  side  darting  hither  and 
thither,  as  if  lost ;  they  seemed  to  be  restlessly 
searching  for  something,  and  always  they  ut- 
tered the  soft,  sad  note,  as  if  the  nest  had  disap- 
peared and  they  had  been  parted  from  the  little 
flock.  Of  course  my  brain  had  changed  the 
very  meaning  of  the  Shaker  story  and  trans- 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

lated  it  into  different  terms,  but  when  I  woke 
this  morning,  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  my 
husband  and  my  boy.  The  two  of  them  seemed 
to  me  to  be  needing  me,  searching  for  me  in  the 
dangerous  open  country,  while  I  was  hidden 
away  in  the  safe  shelter  of  the  wood  —  I  and 
the  other  little  quail  bird  I  had  taken  out  of 
the  nest." 

"Do  you  think  you  could  persuade  your  hus- 
band to  unite  with  us?"  asked  Abby,  wiping 
her  eyes. 

The  tension  of  the  situation  was  too  tightly 
drawn  for  mirth,  or  Susanna  could  have 
smiled,  but  she  answered  soberly,  "No ;  if  John 
could  develop  the  best  in  himself,  he  could  be 
a  good  husband  and  father,  a  good  neighbor 
and  citizen,  and  an  upright  business  man,  but 
never  a  Shaker." 

"Did  n't  he  insult  your  wifely  honor  and  dis- 
grace your  home?" 

"Yes,  in  the  last  few  weeks  before  I  left  him. 
All  his  earlier  offenses  were  more  against  him- 


THE   OPEN   DOOR 

self  than  me,  in  a  sense.  I  forgave  him  many  a 
time,  but  I  am  not  certain  it  was  the  seventy 
times  seven  that  the  Bible  bids  us.  I  am  not 
free  from  blame  myself.  I  was  hard  the  last 
year,  for  I  had  lost  hope  and  my  pride  was 
trailing  in  the  dust.  I  left  him  a  bitter  letter, 
one  without  any  love  or  hope  or  faith  in  it,  just 
because  at  the  moment  I  believed  I  ought,  once 
in  my  life,  to  let  him  know  how  I  felt  toward 
him." 

"How  can  you  go  back  and  live  under  his 
roof  with  that  feeling  ?   It's  degradation." 

"It  has  changed.  I  was  morbid  then,  and  so 
wounded  and  weak  that  I  could  not  fight  any 
longer.  I  am  rested  now,  and  calm.  My  pluck 
has  come  back,  and  my  strength.  I've  learned 
a  good  deal  here  about  casting  out  my  own 
devils ;  now  I  am  going  home  and  help  him  to 
cast  out  his.  Perhaps  he  won't  be  there;  per- 
haps he  does  n't  want  me,  though  when  he  was 
his  very  best  self  he  loved  me  dearly ;  but  that 
was  long,  long  ago!"  sighed  Susanna,  drearily. 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

"  Oh,  this  thing  the  world's  people  call  love !" 
groaned  Abby. 

"There  is  love  and  love,  even  in  the  world 
outside;  for  if  it  is  Adam's  world  it  is  God's, 
too,  Abby !  The  love  I  gave  my  husband  was 
good,  I  think,  but  it  failed  somewhere,  and  I 
am  going  back  to  try  again.  I  am  not  any  too 
happy  in  leaving  you  and  taking  up,  perhaps, 
heavier  burdens  than  those  from  which  I  es- 
caped." 

"Night  after  night  I've  prayed  to  be  the 
means  of  leading  you  to  the  celestial  life,"  said 
the  Eldress,  "but  my  plaint  was  not  worthy  to 
be  heard.  Oh,  that  God  would  increase  our 
numbers  and  so  revive  our  drooping  faith !  We 
work,  we  struggle,  we  sacrifice,  we  pray,  we 
defy  the  world  and  deny  the  flesh,  yet  we  fail 
to  gather  in  Believers." 

"Don't  say  you've  failed,  dear,  dear  Abby !" 
cried  Susanna,  pressing  the  Eldress's  work- 
stained  hands  to  her  lips.  "  God  speaks  to  you 
in  one  voice,  to  me  in  another.  Does  it  matter 


THE  OPEN   DOOR 

so  much  as  long  as  we  both  hear  Him  ?  Surely 
it's  the  hearing  and  the  obeying  that  counts 
most !  Wish  me  well,  dear  friend,  and  help  me 
to  say  good-by  to  the  Elder." 

The  two  women  found  Elder  Gray  in  the 
office,  and  Abby,  still  unresigned,  laid  Su- 
sanna's case  before  him. 

"The  Great  Architect  has  need  of  many 
kinds  of  workmen  in  His  building,"  said  the 
Elder.  "There  are  those  who  are  willing  to 
put  aside  the  ties  of  flesh  for  the  kingdom  of 
heaven's  sake;  'he  that  is  able  to  receive  it, 
let  him  receive  it!'" 

"There  may  also  be  those  who  are  willing  to 
take  up  the  ties  of  the  flesh  for  the  kingdom  of 
heaven's  sake,"  answered  Susanna,  gently,  but 
with  a  certain  courage. 

Her  face  glowed  with  emotion,  her  eyes 
shone,  her  lips  were  parted.  It  was  a  new 
thought.  Abby  and  Daniel  gazed  at  her  for  a 
moment  without  speaking,  then  Daniel  said : 
"It's  a  terrible  cross  to  some  of  the  Brethren 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

and  Sisters  to  live  here  outside  of  the  world, 
but  maybe  it's  more  of  a  cross  for  such  as  you 
to  live  in  it,  under  such  conditions  as  have  sur- 
rounded you  of  late  years.  To  pursue  good 
and  resist  evil,  to  bear  your  cross  cheerfully 
and  to  grow  in  grace  and  knowledge  of  truth 
while  you're  bearing  it  —  that's  the  lesson  of 
life,  I  suppose.  If  you  find  you  can't  learn  it 
outside,  come  back  to  us,  Susanna."  - 

"I  will,"  she  promised,  "and  no  words  can 
speak  my  gratitude  for  what  you  have  all  done 
for  me.  Many  a  time  it  will  come  back  to  me 
and  keep  me  from  faltering." 

She  looked  back  at  him  from  the  open  door- 
way, timidly. 

"Don't  forget  us,  Sue  and  me,  altogether," 
she  said,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears.  "  Come  to 
Farnham,  if  you  will,  and  see  if  I  am  a  credit 
to  Shaker  teaching !  I  shall  never  be  here  again, 
perhaps,  and  somehow  it  seems  to  me  as  if  you, 
Elder  Gray,  with  your  education  and  your  gifts, 
ought  to  be  leading  a  larger  life  than  this." 


THE   OPEN  DOOR 

"I've  hunted  in  the  wild  Maine  forests,  in 
my  young  days;  I've  speared  salmon  in  her 
rivers  and  shot  rapids  in  a  birch-bark  canoe," 
said  the  Elder,  looking  up  from  the  pine  table 
that  served  as  a  desk.  "I've  been  before  the 
mast  and  seen  strange  countries;  I've  fought 
Indians;  I've  faced  perils  on  land  and  sea; 
but  this  Shaker  life  is  the  greatest  adventure 
of  all!" 

"  Adventure  ?  "  echoed  Susanna,  uncompre- 
hendingly. 

"Adventure !"  repeated  the  Elder,  smiling  at 
his  own  thoughts.  "Whether  I  fail,  or  whether 
I  succeed,  it's  a  splendid  adventure  in  ethics." 

Abby  and  Daniel  looked  at  each  other  when 
Susanna  passed  out  of  the  office  door. 

" '  They  went  out  from  us,  but  they  were  not 
of  us ;  for  if  they  had  been  of  us,  they  would 
have  continued  with  us,' "  he  quoted  quietly. 

Abby  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron.  "It's 
a  hard  road  to  travel  sometimes,  Daniel!" 
she  said. 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

"  Yee;  but  think  where  it  leads,  Abby,  think 
where  it  leads !  You  're  not  going  to  complain 
of  dust  when  you  're  treading  the  King's  High- 
way!" 


Susanna  left  the  office  with  a  drooping  head, 
knowing  the  sadness  she  had  left  behind. 
Brother  Ansel  sat  under  the  trees  near  by, 
and  his  shrewd  eye  perceived  the  drift  of  com- 
ing events. 

"Well,  Susanna,"  he  drawled,  "you're  goin' 
to  leave  us,  like  most  o'  the  other  'jiners.'  I 
can  see  that  with  one  eye  shut." 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  with  a  half  smile;  "but 
you  see,  Ansel,  I'jined'  John  Hathaway  before 
I  knew  anything  about  Shaker  doctrines." 

"Yee;  but  what's  to  prevent  your  on-jinin' 
him  ?  They  used  to  tie  up  married  folks  in  the 
old  times  so't  they  couldn't  move  an  inch. 
When  they  read  the  constitution  and  by-laws 
over  'em  they  used  to  put  in  '  till  death  do  us 
part.'   That's  the  way  my  father  was  hitched 


206 


THE   OPEN   DOOR 

to  his  three  wives,  but  death  did  'em  part  — 
fortunately  for  him!" 

"'Till  death  us  do  part'  is  still  in  the  mar- 
riage service,"  Susanna  said,  "and  I  think  of 
it  very  often." 

"I  want  to  know  if  that's  there  yit!"  ex- 
claimed Ansel,  with  apparent  surprise;  "I 
thought  they  must  be  leavin'  it  out,  there's 
so  much  on-jinin'  nowadays !  Well,  accordin' 
to  my  notions,  if  there  is  anything  wuss  'n 
marriage,  it's  hevin'  it  hold  till  death,  for  then 
men-folks  don't  git  any  chance  of  a  speritual 
life  till  afterwards.  They  certainly  don't  when 
they're  being  dragged  down  by  women-folks 
an'  young  ones." 

"I  think  the  lasting  part  of  the  bargain 
makes  it  all  the  more  solemn,"  Susanna  argued. 

"Oh,  yes,  it's  solemn  enough,  but  so's  a 
prayer  meetin',  an'  consid'able  more  ele- 
vatin' " ;  and  here  Ansel  regarded  the  surround- 
ing scenery  with  frowning  disapproval,  as  if  it 
left  much  to  be  desired. 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

"Don't  you  think  that  there  are  any  agree- 
able and  pleasant  women,  Ansel?"  ventured 
Susanna. 

"Land,  yes ;  heaps  of  'em;  but  they  all  wear 
Shaker  bunnits ! ' ' 

"I  suppose  you  know  more  about  the  women 
in  the  outside  world  than  most  of  the  Brothers, 
on  account  of  traveling  so  much?" 

"  I  guess  anybody  't  drives  a  seed-cart  or 
peddles  stuff  along  the  road  knows  enough  o' 
women  to  keep  clear  of  'em.  They'll  come 
out  the  kitchen  door,  choose  their  papers  o' 
seasonin'  an'  bottles  o'  flavorin',  worry  you 
'bout  the  price  an'  take  the  aidge  off  every 
dime,  make  up  an'  then  onmake  their  minds 
'bout  what  they  want,  ask  if  it's  pure,  an' 
when  by  good  luck  you  git  your  cart  out  o' 
the  yard,  they  come  runnin'  along  the  road 
after  ye  to  git  ye  to  swop  a  bottle  o'  vanilla 
for  some  spruce  gum  an'  give  'em  back  the 
change." 

Susanna  could  not  help  smiling  at  Ansel's 


THE   OPEN  DOOR 

arraignment  of  her  sex.  "Do  you  think  they 
follow  you  for  the  pleasure  of  shopping,  or  the 
pleasure  of  your  conversation,  Ansel?"  she 
asked  slyly. 

"A  little  o'  both,  mebbe;  though  the  plea- 
sure's all  on  their  side,"  returned  the  unchiv- 
alrous  Ansel.  "But  take  them  same  women, 
cut  their  hair  close  to  their  heads  (there's  a 
heap  o'  foolishness  in  hair,  somehow),  purge 
'em  o'  their  vanity,  so  they  won't  be  lookin' 
in  the  glass  all  the  time,  make  'em  depend  on 
one  another  for  sassiety,  so  they  won't  crave 
no  conversation  with  men-folks,  an'  you  git 
an  article  that's  'bout  as  good  and  'bout  as 
stiddy  as  a  man!" 

"You  never  seem  to  remember  that  men  are 
just  as  dangerous  to  women's  happiness  and 
goodness  as  women  are  to  men's,"  said  Su- 
sanna, courageously. 

"It  don't  seem  so  to  me !  Never  see  a  man, 
hardly,  that  could  stick  to  the  straight  an' 
narrer  if  a  woman  wanted  him  to  go  the  other 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

way.  Weak  an'  unstable  as  water,  men-folks 
are,  an'  women  are  pow'ful  strong." 

"Have  your  own  way,  Ansel!  I'm  going 
back  to  the  world,  but  no  man  shall  ever  say 
I  hindered  him  from  being  good.  You'll  see 
women  clearer  in  another  world." 

"There'll  be  precious  few  of  'em  to  see!" 
retorted  Ansel.  "You're  about  the  best  o'  the 
lot,  but  even  you  have  a  kind  of  a  managin' 
way  with  ye,  besides  fillin'  us  all  full  o'  false 
hopes  that  we'd  gathered  in  a  useful  Believer, 
one  cal'lated  to  spread  the  doctrines  o'  Mother 
Ann!" 

"I  know,  I  know,  Ansel,  and  oh,  how  sorry 
I  am!  You  would  never  believe  howl  long 
to  stay  and  help  you,  never  believe  how  much 
you  have  helped  me !  Good-by,  Ansel ;  you  've 
made  me  smile  when  my  heart  was  breaking. 
I  shan't  forget  you !" 


XII 
THE  HILLS  OF  HOME 


XII 


SUSANNA  had  found  Sue  in  the  upper 
chamber  at  the  Office  Building,  and  be- 
gan to  make  the  simple  preparations  for  her 
homeward  journey. 

It  was  the  very  hour  when  John  Hathaway 
was  saying :  — 

"Set  her  place  at  hearth  and  board 
As  it  used  to  be." 

Sue  interfered  with  the  packing  somewhat  by 
darting  to  and  fro,  bringing  her  mother  sacred 
souvenirs  given  her  by  the  Shaker  sisters  and 
the  children  —  needle-books,  pin-balls,  thim- 
ble-cases, packets  of  flower-seeds,  polished 
pebbles,  bottles  of  flavoring  extract. 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

"This  is  for  Fardie,"  she  would  say,  "and 
this  for  Jack  and  this  for  Ellen  and  this  for 
Aunt  Louisa  —  the  needle-book,  'cause  she's 
so  useful.  Oh,  I'm  glad  we're  going  home, 
Mardie,  though  I  do  love  it  here,  and  I  was 
most  ready  to  be  a  truly  Shaker.  It's  kind  of 
pityish  to  have  your  hair  shingled  and  your 
stocking  half-knitted  and  know  how  to  say 
'Yee'  and  then  have  it  all  wasted." 

Susanna  dropped  a  tear  on  the  dress  she 
was  folding.  The  child  was  going  home,  as  she 
had  come  away  from  it,  gay,  irresponsible,  and 
merry;  it  was  only  the  mothers  who  hoped 
and  feared  and  dreaded. 

The  very  universe  was  working  toward  Su- 
sanna's desire  at  that  moment,  but  she  was  all 
unaware  of  the  happiness  that  lay  so  near.  She 
could  not  see  the  freshness  of  the  house  in 
Farnham,  the  new  bits  of  furniture  here  and 
there;  the  autumn  leaves  in  her  own  bed- 
room; her  work-table  full  of  the  records  of 
John's   sorrowful   summer;  Jack   handsomer 


THE   HILLS   OF   HOME 

and  taller,  and  softer,  also,  in  his  welcoming 
mood;  Ellen  rosy  and  excited.  She  did  not 
know  that  Joel  Atterbury  had  said  to  John 
that  day,  "I  take  it  all  back,  old  man,  and 
I  hope  you'll  stay  on  in  the  firm!"  nor  that 
Aunt  Louisa,  who  was  putting  stiff,  short- 
stemmed  chrysanthemums  in  cups  and  tum- 
blers here  and  there  through  the  house,  was 
much  more  flexible  and  human  than  was 
natural  to  her;  nor  that  John,  alternating 
between  hope  and  despair,  was  forever  hum- 
ming :  — 

"Set  her  place  at  hearth  and  board 
As  it  used  to  be; 
Higher  are  the  hills  of  home, 
Bluer  is  the  sea!" 

It  is  often  so.  They  who  go  weeping  to 
look  for  the  dead  body  of  a  sorrow,  find  a  vision 
of  angels  where  the  body  has  lain. 

"  I  hope  Fardie'll  be  glad  to  see  us  and  Ellen 
will  have  gingerbread,"  Sue  chattered;  then, 
pausing    at    the  window,  she  added,  "I  'm 


sorry  to  leave  tne  nms,   cause 
them,  don't  you,  Mardie?" 

"We  are  leaving  the  Shaker  hills,  but  we 
are  going  to  the  hills  of  home,"  her  mother 
answered  cheerily.  "Don't  you  remember  the 
Farnham  hills,  dear?" 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  and  Sue  looked 
thoughtful ;  "  they  were  farther  off  and  covered 
with  woods ;  these  are  smooth  and  gentle.  And 
we  shall  miss  the  lake,  Mardie." 

"Yes;  but  we  can  look  at  the  blue  sea  from 
your  bedroom  window,  Sue!" 

"And  we'll  tell  Fardie  about  Polly  Reed 
and  the  little  quail  bird,  won't  we?" 

"  Yes ;  but  he  and  Jack  will  have  a  great  deal 
to  say  to  us,  and  we  must  n't  talk  all  the  time 
about  the  dear,  kind  Shakers,  you  know!" 

"You're  all  'buts,'  Mardie!"  at  which  Su- 
sanna smiled  through  her  tears. 

Twilight  deepened  into  dusk,  and  dusk  into 
dark,  and  then  the  moon  rose  over  the  poplar 
trees  outside  the  window  where  Susanna  and 


THE   HILLS   OF   HOME 

Sue  were  sleeping.  The  Shaker  Brethren  and 
Sisters  were  resting  serenely  after  their  day  of 
confession.  It  was  the  aged  Tabitha's  last 
Sabbath  on  earth,  but  had  she  known,  it  would 
have  made  no  difference;  if  ever  a  soul  was 
ready  for  heaven,  it  was  Tabitha's. 

There  was  an  Irish  family  at  the  foot  of  the 
long  hill  that  lay  between  the  Settlement  and 
the  village  of  Albion ;  father,  mother,  and  chil- 
dren had  prayed  to  the  Virgin  before  they  went 
to  bed;  and  the  gray-haired  minister  in  the 
low-roofed  parsonage  was  writing  his  commun- 
ion sermon  on  a  text  sacred  to  the  orthodox 
Christian  world.  The  same  moon  shone  over 
all,  and  over  millions  of  others  worshiping 
strange  idols  and  holding  strange  beliefs  in 
strange  far  lands,  yet  none  of  them  owned  the 
whole  of  heaven ;  for  as  Elder  Gray  said,  "It  is 
a  big  place  and  belongs  to  God." 

Susanna  Hathaway  went  back  to  John 
thinking  it  her  plain  duty,  and  to  me  it  seems 
beautiful  that  she  found  waiting  for  her  at  the 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

journey's  end  a  new  love  that  was  better  than 
the  old;  found  a  husband  to  whom  she  could 
say  in  that  first  sacred  hour  when  they  were 
alone  together,  "Never  mind,  John!  Let's 
forget,  and  begin  all  over  again." 


When  Susanna  and  Sue  alighted  at  the  little 
railway  station  at  Farnham,  and  started  to 
walk  through  the  narrow  streets  that  led  to  the 
suburbs,  the  mother's  heart  beat  more  and 
more  tumultuously  as  she  realized  that  the 
issues  of  four  lives  would  be  settled  before 
nightfall. 

Little  did  Sue  reck  of  life  issues,  skipping 
like  a  young  roe  from  one  side  of  the  road  to 
the  other.  "There  are  the  hills,  not  a  bit 
changed,  Mardie!"  she  cried;  "and  the  sea  is 
just  where  it  was !  .  .  .  Here's  the  house  with 
the  parrot,  do  you  remember  ?  Now  the  place 
where  the  dog  barks  and  snarls  is  coming  next. 
.  .  .  P'raps  he'll  be  dead  ...  or  p'raps  he'll 
be  nicer.  .  .  .  Keep  close  to  me  till  we  get 


come 
p'raps  he  is  dead  or  gone  a-visiting.  .  .  . 
There's  that  'specially  lazy  cow  that's  always 
lying  down  in  the  Buxtons'  field.  ...  I  don't 
b'lieve  she's  moved  since  we  came  away.  .  .  . 
Do  you  s'pose  she  stands  up  to  be  milked, 
Mardie  ?  There 's  the  old  bridge  over  the 
brook,  just  the  same,  only  the  woodbine's 
red.  .  .  .  There's  .  .  .  There's  .  .  .  Oh, 
Mardie,  look,  look!  ...  I  do  b'lieve  it's  our 
Jacky!" 

Sue  flew  over  the  ground  like  a  swallow, 
calling  "  Jack-y!  Jack-y!  it's  me  and  Mardie 
come  home!" 

Jack  extricated  himself  from  his  sister's 
strangling  hug  and  settled  his  collar.  "I'm 
awful  glad  to  see  you,  Sukey,"  he  said,  "but 
I'm  getting  too  big  to  be  kissed.  Besides, 
my  pockets  are  full  of  angleworms  and  fish- 
hooks." 

"Are  you  too  big  to  be  kissed  even  by 
mother?"    called   Susanna,   hurrying   to   her 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

boy,  who  submitted  to  her  embrace  with  bet- 
ter grace.  "O  Jack,  Jack!  say  you're  glad 
to  see  mother !  Say  it,  say  it ;  I  can't  wait, 
Jack!" 

"  Course  I'm  glad!  why  wouldn't  I  be?  I 
tell  you  I'm  tired  of  Aunt  Louisa,  though  she's 
easier  than  she  was.  Time  and  again  I  've 
packed  my  lunch  basket  and  started  to  run 
away,  but  I  always  made  it  a  picnic  and  went 
back  again,  thinking  they  'd  make  such  a  row 
over  me." 

"Aunt  Louisa  is  always  kind  when  you  're 
obedient,"  Susanna  urged. 

"She  ain't  so  stiff  as  she  was.  Ellen  is  real 
worried  about  her  and  thinks  she's  losing  her 
strength,  she's  so  easy  to  get  along  with." 

"How's  .  .  .  father  .  .  .    ?" 

"Better  'n  he  was." 

"Has  n't  he  been  well?" 

"Not  so  very;  always  quiet  and  won't  eat, 
nor  play,  nor  anything.  I'm  home  with  him 
since  Sunday." 


THE   HILLS  OF  HOME 

"What  is  the  matter  with  your  clothes?" 
asked  Susanna,  casting  a  maternal  eye  over 
him  while  she  pulled  him  down  here  and  up 
there,  with  anxious  disapproving  glances. 
"You  look  so  patched,  and  wrinkled,  and 
grubby." 

"Aunt  Louisa  and  father  make  me  keep  my 
best  to  put  on  for  you,  if  you  should  come.  I 
clean  up  and  dress  every  afternoon  at  train 
time,  only  I  forgot  to-day  and  came  fishing." 

"It's  too  cold  to  fish,  sonny." 

"It  ain't  too  cold  to  fish,  but  it's  too  cold 
for  'em  to  bite,"  corrected  Jack. 

"Why  were  you  expecting  us  just  now?" 
asked  Susanna.  "I  didn't  write  because, 
because,  I  thought  .  .  .  perhaps  .  .  .  it  would 
be  better  to  surprise  you." 

"Father's  expecting  you  every  day,  not  just 
this  one,"  said  Jack. 

Susanna  sank  down  on  a  stone  at  the  end  of 
the  bridge,  and  leaning  her  head  against  the 
railing,  burst  into  tears.    In  that  moment  the 


SUSANNA  AND  SUE 

worst  of  her  fears  rolled  away  from  her  heart 
like  the  stone  from  the  mouth  of  a  sepulchre. 
If  her  husband  had  looked  for  her  return,  he 
must  have  missed  her,  regretted  her,  needed 
her,  just  a  little.  His  disposition  was  sweet, 
even  if  it  were  thoughtless,  and  he  might  not 
meet  her  with  reproaches  after  all.  There 
might  not  be  the  cold  greeting  she  had  often 
feared  —  "  Well,  you've  concluded  to  come  back, 
have  you  ?  It  was  about  time!  "  If  only  John 
were  a  little  penitent,  a  little  anxious  to  meet 
her  on  some  common  ground,  she  felt  her  task 
would  be  an  easier  one. 

"  Have  you  got  a  pain,  Mardie  ?  "  cried  Sue, 
anxiously  bending  over  her  mother. 

"No,  dear,"  she  answered,  smiling  through 
her  tears  and  stretching  a  hand  to  both  chil- 
dren to  help  her  to  her  feet.  "No,  dear,  I've 
lost  one!" 

"I  cry  when  anything  aches,  not  when  it 
stops,"  remarked  Jack,  as  the  three  started 
again  on  their  walk.  —  "  Say,  Sukey,  you  look 


THE  HILLS  OF   HOME 

bigger  and  fatter  than  you  did  when  you  went 
away,  and  you've  got  short  curls  'stead  of 
long  ones.  —  Do  you  see  how  I've  grown  ?  — 
Two  inches!" 

"I'm  inches  and  inches  bigger  and  taller," 
Sue  boasted,  standing  on  tiptoe  and  stretching 
herself  proudly.  "And  I  can  knit,  and  pull 
maple  candy,  and  say  Yee,  and  sing  'O 
Virgin  Church,  how  great  thy  light.'" 

"Pooh,"  said  Jack,  "I  can  sing  'A  sailor's 
life 's  the  life  for  me,  Yo  ho,  yo  ho ! '  Step  along 
faster,  mummy  dear ;  it 's  'most  supper  time. 
Aunt  Louisa  won't  scold  if  you're  with  me. 
There's  the  house,  see?  Father '11  be  working 
in  the  garden  covering  up  the  asters,  so  they 
won't  freeze  before  you  come." 

"There  is  no  garden,  Jack.  What  do  you 
mean  r 

"Wait  till  you  see  if  there's  no  garden! 
Hurrah!  there's  father  at  the  window,  side  of 
Aunt  Louisa.  Won't  he  be  pleased  I  met  you 
halfway  and  brought  you  home!" 


SUSANNA  AND   SUE 

Oh !  it  was  beautiful,  the  autumn  twilight, 
the  smoke  of  her  own  hearthside  rising  through 
the  brick  chimneys !  She  thought  she  had 
left  the  way  of  peace  behind  her,  but  no,  the 
way  of  peace  was  here,  where  her  duty  was, 
and  her  husband  and  children. 

The  sea  was  deep  blue ;  the  home  hills  rolled 
softly  along  the  horizon;  the  little  gate  that 
Susanna  had  closed  behind  her  in  anger  and 
misery  stood  wide  open  ;  shrubs,  borders, 
young  hedge-rows,  beds  of  late  autumn  flowers 
greeted  her  eyes  and  touched  her  heart.  A 
foot  sounded  on  the  threshold ;  the  home  door 
opened  and  smiled  a  greeting ;  and  then  a  voice 
choked  with  feeling,  glad  with  welcome,  called 
her  name. 

Light-footed  Sue  ran  with  a  cry  of  joy  into 
her  father's  outstretched  arms,  and  then  leap- 
ing down  darted  to  Ellen,  chattering  like  a 
magpie.  Husband  and  wife  looked  at  each 
other  for  one  quivering  moment,  and  then 
clasped  each  other  close. 


THE   HILLS   OF   HOME 

"Forgive!  O  Susanna,  forgive!" 
John's  eyes  and  lips  and  arms  made  mute 
appeals,  and  it  was  then  Susanna  said,  "Never 
mind,  John!   Let's  forget,  and  begin  all  over 
again!" 


40 


P\__. 


'*?■ 


-*j 


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